Vamping the OC
by Iceworm
Summary: An AU in which Ryan does not get Sandy as his public defender. Chapter 14 is up now. In this chapter Seth meets some of Ryan's friends at The Roach Motel.
1. Noblesse Oblige The Challenge

Vamp n. 1. a new piece or patch added to an older work, 2. an improvisation on an older work or theme, 3. Short for vampire, a corpse that comes alive at night and sucks the blood of the living.

Vamp vt. 1. to add a new piece to an older work, 2. to improvise.,

Vamping the OC

Part I

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

The Challenge

Looking up from his notes, James Farmer, BA, Sociology & Economics, 1996, M.Ed., 1998, UCLA, surveyed the faces turned toward him like a field of flowers, faces turned toward the sun. "And so class, we've been discussing the phenomenon of homelessness in America this week and today's topic was kids on the street. What are some of the important facts to remember about homelessness among the young?" James stepped out from behind the small lectern resting on his desk and watched as their heads but not, he suspected, their minds followed his movement.

Harbor's student body was like a garden that had only one type of flower growing in it and his class reflected that fact. Most private schools paid at least lip service to the concept of diversity. The almighty buck seemed to be the only criterion that Harbor's admissions board considered when making its decisions. There were, it was true, a handful of non-white students attending Harbor. He doubted; however, that Harbor's student body contained any actually needy students. The few scholarship students that he knew of were like Marissa Cooper, whose fees were being waived because of her father's "special situation".

The echoing silence his question provoked caused him to wonder yet again if all the benefits of teaching at The Harbor School made up for the tedium of trying to interest these students in people outside their enclave, people whose lives were less than golden. The better pay, the prestige of teaching at Harbor, and - he admitted to himself when he'd had too many margaritas – the greater physical safety of teaching at this exclusive private school had been the lures that had drawn him out of the Los Angeles School District. Still, at the end of most days he fell into his bed exhausted as though he'd spent the day slogging through soft sand.

James couldn't decide why any of these spoiled children of privilege were in his Sociology class. Or, as he'd once heard Ms. Roberts define it to general hilarity when he'd arrived late for class: "Sociology, a semester spent studying losers, whiners, and malcontents who can't make a go of their lives and blame others for their miserable condition. Ew!"

The presence of Harbor royalty in his class was a separate mystery. Marissa Cooper and Luke Ward, Harbor's perfect couple, were the acknowledged leaders in every aspect of school life in which they chose to participate. This was true, he admitted reluctantly, even in academics. They were not stupid even if they were the leaders of Harbor's "Beautiful People." He couldn't imagine what the attraction was for them in his class.

A small group of their followers and hangers on had also enrolled in his class: Summer Roberts, Marissa's best friend, and several of Luke's teammates from various sports took up space in his class. Mr. Farmer wondered which was the greater attraction for the jocks – their friendship with Luke or Ms. Roberts' ample charms. The vacant chair next to Summer had seen a new male occupant each Monday since the start of school. Observing this game of hormone driven musical chairs had provided the distraction he needed to get him through several notably bad Monday's. He reflected that at her current rate of consumption, Summer Roberts would soon exhaust this class's supply of hunks. She would then have to start repeating herself or direct her attentions to the less studly members of the class.

Looking at the back of the class, he had no doubt as to the reason for Seth Cohen's presence. James had met Sandy Cohen. Sandy could probably lay claim to being the most liberal parent of any student at Harbor. Seth, the grandson of a social worker from the Bronx and the son of the Secretary of the Orange County chapter of the ACLU, was predestined for this class. It was encoded in his genes.

Perhaps he should just call on Seth who was lying slumped across his table. His left hand supported his right arm which waved weakly like that of some castaway forlornly signaling to a passing ship. He knew Seth would have the answer; but he'd like confirmation that someone else had stayed awake during his lecture. Seth must know that always having the right answer wouldn't win him any friends; but he seemed incapable of passing up a chance to hear himself talk. His lack of friends no doubt explained why he was sharing a table at the back of the classroom with Harbor's Paraguayan exchange student. James sighed. It was Friday afternoon and he just wanted the day to be over, so he called on Seth. "Yes, Mr. Cohen."

As though exhausted, Seth let his arm fall to the table with a thud that was a typically Cohen gesture. It had the beneficial effect of distracting some of the "beautiful people" from their whispered conversations and refocusing their attention back on the class of which they were nominally a part. "Yeah. Kids who end up on the streets, whether by choice – as runaways – or involuntarily: by being kicked out of their home or by becoming homeless in some other way have two unpleasant choices. They can enter into the state's foster care program if they're young enough or they can try to make it on their own on the streets. One scenario requires faith in the competency of bureaucrats who are overworked and underconcerned. The other requires an unrealistic faith in human nature in a world of the street where most adults are predatory and all too willing to exploit the naivete of young newcomers."

"Good, what options do those kids who live on the street have?" James asked and then nodded to Seth to continue when no one else raised a hand.

"Since they're underage, haven't graduated from high school, and posses no job skills that would allow them to support themselves on their own, they have four options: they can panhandle, they can steal, they can sell drugs, or they can sell their body."

"Mr. Cohen has painted a bleak picture of the prospects of life on the streets. Aren't there any other options, class?" Surprisingly a hand went up at the front of the classroom. "Ms. Cooper, you have something to add?"

"It might not be that bad. It's always possible that someone in their family or the family of a good friend might take them in. This would probably be only a short term fix for their problem." Marissa spoke softly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Short term is right!" Luke Ward interjected, pulling his legs down from the chair across from him at his table and straightening in his seat. "Who in their right mind wants to take in a stray teenager? It's not like we're talking about a cute kitten or a cuddly puppy."

Marissa smiled, nodded in agreement, and then added. "There are private alternatives to the state's foster care system. Some of them are open to older teens: shelters for street kids, group homes, that sort of thing. The kid could even try to reconcile with his parents. Life on the street must be worse than being at home."

"Is that true? Is life on the street always worse than life at home?" Mr. Farmer looked around the class and directed his question to Luke. "What could be worse than living on the street, Mr. Ward?"

Luke showed surprise at being called on. He hesitated a moment before answering. "There could be abuse: physical, mental or sexual in the home. There might be substance abuse issues. Finally, the kid just might not be wanted. It could be a matter of money – too many mouths to feed and the oldest needs to go or the makeup of the household may have changed. The evil stepparent or a new live-in that makes life too hard for the kid may have entered the mix and the street seems the only answer.

A voice from the back of the room chimed in. "They need to get off the street, though!"

"What was that, Mr. Cohen?"

"I said, they have to find a way off the street if they're going to survive."

"You're right. Life on the street is a dangerous, brutal, and often short thing for children. Death from violence and disease are both off the chart for this category of young people. They do need to find a place where they'll be safe."

Mr. Farmer was pleased. His three best students had been listening to his lecture and had almost reached the critical mass needed to generate a real class discussion. Unfortunately, the class was almost over. James wondered why homelessness should have provoked such interest. Perhaps it was the idea of kids their age becoming homeless and having to survive on their own that struck a chord.

He picked up a stack of booklets from his desk and handed them to Summer. "Ms. Roberts, please take one and pass the others on." He watched Summer take the first booklet with an air of bored distaste and pass the rest on. Holding up a copy up, he explained. "The Board of Trustees adopted a new, non-academic requirement for graduation over the summer. Beginning this year, all students must perform a minimum of 25 hours of community service each year they attend Harbor. A Freshman will need a minimum of 100 hours by the end of their Senior year. A Senior this year will need to accumulate 25 hours."

"The packet that I passed out contains the contact information and jobs available at each social service, health, and education agency that would like volunteers." He watched the class flip through the packet. Most seemed resigned. A few actually displayed some interest. Summer, however, hadn't looked at the packet. "Ms. Roberts, is there a problem?"

Summer met his eyes briefly and then her eyes went back to the booklet lying unopened on her desk. She glanced to her right at Marissa who nodded sharply. With an embarrassed expression she said, "I volunteer at HOAG three hours a week. Does that count?"

James hoped he didn't look as surprised as Summer's friends sitting around her. From somewhere in the room a male voice said, "Summer in a candy striper uniform, that's hot!" He saw Summer blush and Marissa look around angrily for the speaker. A glare from Mr. Farmer squelched further comment.

Of all the reactions to Summer's revelation, he found Seth Cohen's to be the most interesting. Seth looked like someone who'd taken a bite of a dish expecting to hate it and found it wonderful. His expression was adoring and reminded James why he wouldn't want to be sixteen again.

"Yes, that is exactly the kind of activity the Board is hoping to encourage. If any of the rest of you are already doing volunteer work," he paused and, receiving back the blank stares he'd expected, continued, "see me after class to discuss it. Everyone does need a packet, Ms. Roberts, because it contains the form that your agency will complete to verify your hours. So take it with you." The bell rang, as he was finishing. "You have your homework assignment for Monday, so I'll see you then."


	2. Noblesse Oblige Harvey

VAMPING THE OC

Part I

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

Harvey

Seth sat at the kitchen counter studying the booklet handed out in Sociology. He'd gone about the task of winnowing the list of volunteer "opportunities" methodically. After eliminating all the positions for which he was obviously unsuited – no one would ever hire him as the coach of a kid's team for anything – he found this exercise in self-administered triage had reduced his possibilities by over 90. It pleased him that he now had a list that was of manageable size but dismayed him that his talents and abilities were so little valued by the "Real World." Discovering that he had no skills transferable to a medical setting, such as HOAG, had been particularly disheartening.

"Well, here's a possibility. What do you think?" Seth stopped and glanced around furtively making sure that no one had heard him before dropping his head to the counter. He rapped it softly against the surface before straightening on his stool. He knew he was being overly paranoid. He'd said nothing **that** out of the ordinary. Normal people said similar sorts of things out loud all the time in moments of concentration. Still, it worried him that any slip might reveal to a hostile and suspicious world his secret. What had previously been his private, snarky, internal commentary on the world had gone public, external and acoustic. He talked to himself all the time now.

Strangely, Seth could pinpoint the exact day and hour when his chatter went "live". It had happened on a Saturday early in August. He'd taken the _Summer Breeze_ out for a sail in the morning; and later in the evening, after allowing himself to be coaxed into going to the country club by his mom, he'd found himself at a fashion show. Like the secret master he was, Seth had earned points that day from his mom for doing exactly what he'd intended to do all along – see Summer strut her stuff on a runway.

It was after the show that Seth arrived at his self-diagnosis of seriously neurotic. He'd watched Summer and the other "models" depart for yet another of Holly's awesomely decadent beach parties and had decided that Seth Cohen needed some fresh air to clear his head. A walk home along the beach had seemed, at the time, the perfect restorative to him. He hadn't considered; however, where Holly's beach house lay in relation to his route home. As he made his way along the beach, he found that the light from the bonfires in front of her house and the music from the party kept him company and raised his walk home to a wholly new, never previously experienced level of misery.

It was at this low point that he started to talk to himself. All the things he'd kept bottled up for years: his feelings for Summer, his loneliness in Newport, and his miserable existence at Harbor found expression that night. A lifetime of frustration and misery came tumbling out as he described his situation to the night. Only it wasn't just the night, the ocean, and the stars that heard his pain. The feeling grew in him as he talked that someone was there, keeping pace with him, listening to him. He found it creepy but at the same time exciting. That had been how it started.

After that night he never knew when he would find himself talking to his new "friend". He found himself chattering away over solitary lunches at restaurants on the pier; delivering sarcastic commentary (he fervently hoped the water polo team would not hear) while walking to class; and musing about the meaning of life and the unfairness of his continued virginity while drifting aimlessly in his pool. This deranged behavior was hard enough to handle but the constant, paralyzing anxiety was worse. He lived in perpetual state of fear that Summer might someday become sufficiently aware of his existence to catch him in one of his neurotic soliloquies.

Could there be anything more humiliating than to have a life so lonely and empty of human contact that at sixteen he needed the crutch of an imaginary friend? Seth decided he couldn't think of anything.

He clung to two "facts"; however, in an effort to reassure himself that he hadn't totally lost it. His "Harvey" hadn't gained a voice of his own nor had he acquired a face. He might be talking to an imaginary person but he wasn't seeing things that weren't there nor hearing voices – yet. Seth had established these two events as a kind of mental dead man's switch for himself. If either occurred he'd know that he was in deep trouble. Then it would be time for him to push the speed-dial number of the family shrink programmed into his mother's phone.

His situation both comforted and dismayed him. To have someone, even an imaginary someone, who listened patiently to his ramblings and actually liked the person who lived in Seth Cohen's skin made him feel good. At other times this imaginary friend, what else could he be after all, scared him and caused him to question his grip on reality. No one had ever mentioned insanity in the family; but no one who knew Nana or Caleb Nichols would ever dismiss the possibility out of hand.

His conversations were one-sided but not one-way. He considered that further evidence of his mental instability. Of course when you're crazy, Seth decided, you get to make your own rules or what's the use of a good neurotic episode. He **knew** that there were differences in the silences he shared with his visitor.

He knew, without ever hearing from his "friend", what his opinion was on numerous subjects. "Harvey" shared his anger at the bullies who belittled and tormented Seth, he was disappointed at Seth's cowardice when it came to his relationship with Summer, and he seemed to be both amused and bemused by Seth's relationship with his parents.

Being an expert at shielding his parents from the unpleasant facts of his life, Seth had so far managed to hide this condition from them. As they always did, they accepted unquestioningly his assurances that all was well with him. He was not sure, however, how successfully he'd kept his problem hidden at school. He was so accustomed to attracting odd looks around Harbor that he couldn't tell if their character had changed or their number increased since his "friend" arrived in his life. His previously low-level paranoia was now in overdrive as though he was working off a triple espresso.

xxxxx

Seth took a breath and went back to reading the information on the positions remaining in the booklet. By the time he'd finished the last description and had taken his final note he had several pages of scribbles to decipher and review. He sat for a moment thumbing through his notes. One position he struck off his list because of the number of hours they wanted each week from their volunteers; two more were eliminated because they wanted volunteers on more than one day a week. (Seth had decided he'd inconvenience himself as little as possible to earn his 25 hours. So, his ideal position would require no more than four hours of his time and tie up only one evening a week). Passing his finalists through this screen left him with four candidates. All wanted volunteers with computer experience and all seemed to be something he was qualified for and might actually enjoy.

Taking the booklet and his notes with him, Seth went upstairs to his room to spend some time on the Internet with Mapquest locating the sites of these jobs. The program would give him some idea of how much of a commute each one would require. _If he only had a car of his own… _Until that miracle occurred he planned on borrowing a car from one of his parents. He'd be damned if he'd let them drive him. He wasn't some little kid who needed to be chauffeured everywhere. He'd drive himself or he wouldn't go - graduation requirement or not.

Seth shuffled through the maps and the driving directions from Harbor to the various sites that he'd printed out. Harbor had cast a wide net in hopes of finding enough sites for all its students. This was clear from the four candidates still on Seth's list: one was in Riverside County, two were in L.A. County, and one was in San Bernardino County. Seth copied the information for the four agencies onto a clean piece of paper and tucked it into the booklet.

The sound of a car door slamming brought a smile to his face. He was seriously hungry and he hoped the sound meant that Kirsten was home with dinner. It was his night to choose the menu and he'd e-mailed her at work with his choice – Thai. Seth picked up the volunteer booklet and headed downstairs to investigate.

He opened the door for his mother before she even had time to press the doorbell. Her arms were filled with blueprints and a fat binder but no takeout containers. Seth grabbed the door with both hands and sagged against it as though perishing from hunger.

"Mom, you forgot dinner!"

Kirsten almost managed to brush his cheek with her lips as she passed by him balancing the load in her arms. Seth reacted to their close encounter by swatting at the air around his head wildly as though fending off a swarm of killer bees. Stopping in the doorway, his head covered by his arms, he peeked out from beneath their protection.

"Mommmmmmm, please!" He said in his best, aggrieved, teen voice.

Kirsten only smiled. Continuing through the foyer into the house, she paused. Accustomed to ignoring his theatrics, her eyes paused only briefly on his tableau before moving on to the clock in the living room. "Dinner's in the backseat, Seth. Would you please bring it and my briefcase in? You might as well go ahead and eat, honey. Your father's going to be late and," Staring down at the cell phone she'd somehow managed to maneuver out of her suit pocket, she continued, "I need to return a lot of calls."

As she scrolled through the voice mails that had come in during her drive home, she said in a distracted tone, "They had Spring Rolls tonight."

"Oh, goooood." Seth dropped his arms, turned without another word, and trotted off toward the garage and dinner.

Looking up, she called after him before he could get out of ear range. "You know your dad likes them too! If there aren't any Spring Rolls when he gets home, you'll have to explain why."


	3. Noblesse Oblige Fighting the Good Figh...

VAMPING THE OC

Part I

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

Fighting the Good Fight

Dinner was over and Kirsten was pouring Sandy his second and her third glass of wine when Sandy's curiosity got the better of him. He pointed to the maroon booklet lying beside Seth's plate. "Okay, what is that? I can make out 'Opportunities' and. 'Harbor'. What's the rest?"

Seth picked up the booklet and held it so that both of his parents could read the title:

Volunteer Opportunities

For Harbor Students

2003 – 2004

"It's one of Dr. Kim's ideas. Give the over privileged an opportunity to help the underprivileged. Now, if I want to graduate from your _alma mater_ dear mater, I must give up 25 hours of my life to a 'worthy cause' this year and every subsequent year I attend Harbor." Seth rolled his eyes. He pulled a sheet of paper from the booklet and handed it to Sandy. "I spent the afternoon going through it and these are the four finalists."

Sandy took the list from Seth and examined it. His eyebrows arched upward as he read the names of the four agencies Seth had written down, but he passed the list on to Kirsten without comment. Her reaction to its contents was visibly less enthusiastic than Sandy's. Kirsten's mouth tightened and she gave Sandy a sharp look before laying the paper, face down, on the table.

"Is there any significance in the way you ordered your finalists?" Sandy asked carefully.

Seth held his hand out to his mother for the list. He studied it for a moment before answering. "They're in alphabetical order." He looked at Sandy quizzically, unsure if the question might have been meant as a joke.

Sandy smiled thinly. "No, I was wondering if their order indicated your preference. None of these places are in Orange County and the first name on your list, the Chino Valley YMCA, is also the farthest from Newport."

"Why would you have an organization in Chino on your list, honey?" Kirsten's tone earned her a warning look from Sandy that she ignored. "What could Joyce have been thinking to allow agencies from those areas to be included? Why didn't she include Watts, while she was at it?" Kirsten took a sip of wine. Since Dr. Kim was unavailable to hear Kirsten vent her displeasure, she contented herself with glaring at Sandy as though he was somehow to blame for this situation.

"Chino isn't Watts, Mom! Sure, it's not Newport either. I checked on the Internet – it's working class, sort of lower middle." Seth stared at Kirsten.

"Seth, you're right, it isn't Watts; but it has some tough neighborhoods – places you wouldn't want to run out of gas at night. Your mother and I are just concerned…" Sandy saw a flash of something in his son's eyes and changed tack. "It's at least a forty-five minute drive each way on the freeway. That's a lot of driving for a volunteer job."

"You're worried about me driving on the freeway?" Seth was incredulous. "You can't go to the grocery store for milk here without getting on the freeway. I can drive myself to San Diego to COMICON but I can't drive across town? What's up with you guys?" Seth waited, shifting his gaze between his parents.

"Seth, you're mother feels…" At a muffled sound from Kirsten's end of the table, Sandy paused to take a sip of wine and then began again. "Your mother and I both feel that if you went through that booklet again you could find other equally good opportunities for volunteering that were…" Sandy studied his son's skeptical expression. "Better suited for your first volunteer job and closer to home. You don't have any experience in life outside of Newport"

"So Dad, which is it, I'm too good for Chino or too young and naive to be allowed out of the bubble?" He leaned back in his chair and gestured broadly. "Can I still cross the street without asking permission?"

"Seth, don't do that with your chair and stop being melodramatic. Don't pretend that you don't understand what your father is saying." Kirsten had emptied her glass and exhausted her patience with the men at this table. She shot Sandy a disgusted look. "What your father is trying to say is that we want you to pick some place safer. Some place we won't have to worry about you when you're there."

"Safer or less brown?" Seth's question left Sandy and Kirsten speechless. Seth plowed ahead into the strained silence. "Chino's not Watts; but it's not the Bronx either is it, Dad? That kid, the one from the Manhattan prep school, the one who took the subway up to the Bronx every week to tutor you, what do you think his parents thought about that? Did they think your old neighborhood was too far away, wasn't safe enough, or maybe they thought it was too Jewish? He didn't find a better, safer, closer to home neighborhood to work in." Seth shook his head. "You've turned into a couple of hypocrites. The checks go out to the right causes and you belong to all the politically correct groups; but neither of you wants your kid going into a neighborhood where there are too many of 'their kind' around."

Kirsten replied, "Color has nothing to do with this, Seth. Your father and I are being realistic. We know a little more about the world outside Newport than you do. You don't have a clue how to act, what to say." She paused and smiled thinly. "Or, in your case, when to just keep your mouth shut."

"Seth, if you go to Chino, you won't know the rules or the signals. You could get into a lot of trouble very innocently. Don't roll your eyes at me. I work with kids from those neighborhoods. Some of them are every bit as bright as you are but life's dealt them a shitty hand. If they manage, by some miracle, to stay out of the adult legal system after they turn eighteen all they have to look forward to is a dead end job and a lifetime of missed opportunities. Others that I see are already lost causes just marking time in the juvenile system until they graduate to the big time. You're going to be clueless out there." Sandy could tell from Seth's expression that he hadn't heard anything that he'd said.

"Dad, if ten years at Harbor have taught me anything they have taught me how to tell the difference between people who are serious about wanting to hurt me and those who aren't. I know how to get out of the way of the first group and can deal with the latter."

As he finished, his eyes grew large and he brought a hand to his mouth. His parents wore expressions that were confused but not concerned. Thinking fast, Seth gambled that humor would deflect any suspicions his unthinking comment might have aroused in his parents. "Besides, my highly evolved spidey-sense never fails to warn when malefactors, intent on doing me harm, are near." Seth flashed them one of his dopey, lopsided grins. "So, you see, I'm covered. There's nothing to worry about."

"Can't you be serious at least 'til we finish this conversation, Seth?" Kirsten leaned forward in her chair and fixed her husband with a look that demanded he get back into the fight.

Caught between his wife and his son, Sandy looked like he wished he could be anywhere else, doing anything else, but having this conversation. "Our decision is for your own good. You'll understand our reasons when you have kids of your own. We want you to be safe. Take Chino…"

Seth interrupted. "But, Dad...!"

"Seth!" Kirsten said sharply.

"Take Chino off your list. It's not an option for you this year." Sandy's statement drew a frown from both his listeners.

"So you're ordering me to stay out of Chino." Seth, his arms crossed, looked thoughtful.

Sandy wouldn't meet his eyes; but Kirsten met and held them without flinching. "It's an order only if that's what it takes to keep you out of Chino."

"So, I guess borrowing the car on Wednesday night for the next couple of months is out?" Seth's tone was sarcastic. "The Internet is my next stop." He stood up and, leaving his dishes on the table, headed for the hall. At the doorway he paused and turned back to his parents. Sandy was staring intently at his plate while Kirsten looked wistfully at her empty glass. "You know, I told you the truth. Those selections really were only in alphabetical order; but thanks for helping me decide where I'm sending my application."

Seth left the room muttering to himself. His voice drifted down the hall to them. "I wonder if you can get to Chino by bus."

Kirsten picked up the corkscrew that was lying next to her plate and removed the old cork. She had pushed back her chair from the table and had started to rise when they heard Seth once again.

"How do you catch a bus?"

Kirsten's napkin hit the table and she skewered Sandy with an icy glare.

"It'll be an adventure!"


	4. Noblesse Oblige: Allies

VAMPING THE OC 

PART I

Noblesse Oblige 

Allies

"What price pride?" Seth asked the empty room. He rocked back in his desk chair and contemplated the printouts he held in his hand. What price was he prepared to pay to do what he wanted - to not back down? The temptation was strong to crumple the pages he'd printed off the Internet and forget the whole thing. "Do I really want to spend four hours on a bus and make all these transfer just to make a point? Maybe this is a point that I don't need to make." The room was empty and silent except for the hum of his computer. He slumped forward and rested his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands.

Rapid transit sucked in Southern California. Rapid transit wasn't even an oxymoron for what Southern California had. What was needed was a whole new word to describe its suckiness. Invented words were a Seth Cohen specialty. He usually relished the challenge but with no one with whom to share his brilliance, he just didn't feel up to the challenge tonight. Seth had become accustomed to his "friend" being around at these moments but he'd been conspicuously absent today. Thinking back over his day, Seth realized that he hadn't felt him around since Sociology.

Resigned to the fact that his neurotic manifestation was not his to summon or dismiss as he pleased, Seth turned back to the depressing printouts in front of him. Seth raised a finger to his lips and tapped them in thought. "I could use my skateboard to get from the bus stop to the Y in Chino." He shook his head and grimaced at that image.

"I guess it's a good thing Newport needs maids or I wouldn't have a prayer of getting there. You've got to need a job pretty badly to transfer four times each way." Seth looked down at the sheets of paper and wondered if he **really** wanted to go to Chino that badly. It would be easier to go along with his mother. Giving in and going along could have definite benefits. His mother hated confrontations like tonight's and if he "came to his senses" there'd be something in it for him. He did the calculations. It could be big. It might even be worth a car to her.

"God, I'd like a car! But, Mom's wrong this time." Seth didn't know why; but he felt certain about that. This was something he had to do. Muttering to himself he tried some of the alternate search parameters offered by the transit system's automated route information system. "She worries so much, you'd think she was Jewish. What does she think is going to happen to me there: I'll get wasted in a driveby; mugged by a street gang, or be seduced by a sultry temptress from the barrio?" Some of his bravado leaked away as his eyes fell on the new travel times brought up by his latest search.

Straightening his shoulders he selected Harbor School from the Favorites list on his browser. "Nothing is going to happen if I don't apply for that job, right?" This time he felt agreement in the room and was filled with the calmness that comes with having made the right decision. It was as though he'd been trying to tune in a distant radio station. Where before there was only crackling static, confused signals, and meaningless noise, now his life seemed locked onto one powerful, crystal clear signal.

Seth drilled down through the many levels of the Harbor School website and finally found the application form for Student Volunteer Opportunities. Seth was so absorbed in completing the form on the computer screen, that he didn't hear the knock on his door. It wasn't until Sandy stuck his head in the door and spoke that he realized he had a visitor.

"Mind if I come in?

"No, come on." Surprised by this previously unknown consideration for his privacy, Seth gave permission before he remembered that he was angry at both his parents. It was more than just anger with his dad though – he was profoundly disappointed. _Dad should have been on my side in this._

Seth swiveled in his chair to face his dad as Sandy made his way over to Seth's bed and sat down.

"Do I still get my allowance tomorrow?" Was Seth's first question.

"Yes, Seth, you'll get your check tomorrow." The corners of Sandy's mouth twitched as he answered. "We aren't going to punish you for disagreeing with us. That's why I'm here though. Your mother's adamant. Punishment would only be on the table if you went behind our backs and disobeyed us on this."

Seth reached behind him and blanked out his computer screen. "Okay, I get where mom's coming from. Except for her years at Berkeley, she's spent her whole life in this little artificial world of pod people, money, and privilege that we call home. What's she know about the world outside Newport?" Seth asked leaning forward in his chair. "But you know what the world is like outside. Hell, you grew up in a neighborhood that mom wouldn't even let me drive through. Why didn't you back me up? It's not as though I'm moving to the barrio to become a community activist. All I'm doing is going to Chino, once a week, to do two intro computer classes for three hours. Seth rolled his eyes. "Really scary stuff, Dad." The exasperation in Seth's voice was clear.

"You're right, son. I should have supported you and I let you down. I know it wasn't intentional on your part but you surprised us. Worse, you frightened your mother. Surprise and fear are a deadly combo when your child's safety is involved. You put Kirsten into protective mom mode. Your mother didn't really hear anything you said after she saw Chino on your list and doesn't understand what you're proposing to do. When something frightens you and you don't understand it the path of least resistance is to reject it. That's what your mother did." Sandy ran his hand through his hair. "Are you sure you want to apply for that particular job, Seth? Things would be simpler and more peaceful around here for all of us if you picked something else, something closer to home.

Seth, who'd been rocking back and forth in his desk chair while his father spoke, stopped and met his father's stare. "Dad, this is the one I need to do. No, it's the one I have to do! I've got the qualifications but more importantly it feels right. Maybe they won't select me; but it's my first choice."

"Knowledge is the enemy of fear, Seth. Show me everything you've got about this position in Chino. I'll do some checking on my own and if it looks okay I'll try to convince your mother that you aren't really sailing blindly into the heart of darkness." Seth smiled as he swiveled back to his desk and pulled the booklet off the top of the pile of books on his desk. Sandy studied the job description and the description of the Chino Valley YMCA contained in it.

He looked up when he finished. "Okay, I'll talk to your mother." At Seth's delighted expression Sandy sighed and shook his head. "It looks okay," he said waving the booklet. "There aren't any obvious red flags but I'll check, just in case, to make sure that there's nothing I've missed. Still, Seth, there aren't any guarantees. You need to have a backup plan in case I can't budge her. And remember Seth, your mother is right about one thing – Chino will be a whole new world for you. You'll be like a fish out of water there."

Seth bounced out of his chair and dropped down onto the bed next to Sandy. He draped an arm across his father's shoulders. "I am totally not worried. No woman, not even mom, can resist the charms of a determined Cohen man. I've got faith in you, Dad. You'll soften her up with your lawyer's logic and then finish her off with the Cohen charm." Seth gave Sandy's shoulder a manly squeeze. "I'll leave it up to you how you close the deal with mom. There are some things a guy just doesn't want to hear about from his dad. As for the other, I may just surprise you guys."

Unable to sit still, Seth began to pace back and forth in front of his father as he strategized on the best way to persuade the Chino Valley YMCA that he was the one they needed for this job. Sandy watched his son's enthusiasm and cringed inwardly at the thought of the coming conversations with Kirsten. It was going to take a lot of persuading and cajoling to get Kirsten Cohen to change her mind about this.

As he listened to his son's crazy schemes and witnessed his growing excitement, a broad smile slowly spread across Sandy's face. He didn't know why he was smiling. There was no reason to smile. Kirsten was going to be a hard sell; but, for some reason he didn't understand, the whole crazy idea felt right to him too.

AN – These first four short chapters were all written last Spring when my arm was in a cast. When I got back the use of both arms I had A Bad Monday to finish. So, now the newer chapters start and they tend to be considerably longer and will be coming out at a slower pace so I can keep ahead of you guys. _The Real Chino: First Impressions_ will post about the 24th and the ensuing chapters should follow the same two-week schedule.

Oh and by the way, Seth does finally meet Ryan next chapter.


	5. The Real Chino: First Impressions

VAMPING THE OC

The Real Chino

First Impressions

Seth checked the Range Rover's GPS. Ninety percent of the first **SCEF** (Seth Cohen Expeditionary Force) incursion into Chino was complete. Kirsten had finally, in the face of steady pressure from Sandy and unrelenting whining from Seth, agreed to allow Seth to volunteer in Chino. She'd done it grudgingly; however, fighting every step of the way. As part of the guerrilla campaign she'd waged against the idea, Kirsten had constantly harped on the subject of Chino's many dangers. Don't go to Chino – you'll get hurt. There's nothing but punks and hoodlums in Chino. Chino will only mean trouble for you. Stay away from the girls in Chino. Seth shook his head and forced himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel. As though he needed to worry about that last piece of motherly caution.

Parents were oblivious to the world around them; or, at least, that had been Seth's experience. From what he'd seen of his classmates' families, he thought this might qualify as a universal law. As long as he didn't introduce any grit into the smoothly running, high performance, dual carburetor engine that was the Cohen family, he might as well not be there. His mother and father had no clue what his life was like. Seth knew they loved him. He doubted, however, that they knew what sort of person their (almost a man) son was in the process of becoming.

_Ninety percent. Ninety percent._ Seth hummed it to the rhythm of the music coming from the car's CD. His fingers drummed it on the steering wheel. He suddenly flashed on his driving instructor's words, hands firmly on wheel and butt firmly planted on seat. He had to remember not to bounce. _Ninety percent. So far, so good. No disasters, yet. Mom will be so disappointed._ He didn't believe that his mother actually wanted one of her oft-repeated worst cast scenarios to befall him. He was less sure that she wasn't secretly hoping that something on a smaller scale would happen to cause him to see the error of his ways.

Part of the reason he felt sure she loved him to excess was affixed to the back of the sun visor above the driver's seat. On it she had taped a checklist of things automotive he had to do each week before driving to Chino. There were tire pressures to be checked, the gas tank to be filled, and all the car's other bodily fluids to be measured and topped off as necessary.

It had been his luck today on his way to Chino to get the same "kid" at the Chevron station that he'd gotten last week when he'd gone for his final interview at the Chino Valley YMCA. The same "kid" with the red hair gathered into a ponytail that bounced jauntily as she walked toward the truck. The same "kid" whose name Chris was neatly stitched in white on the left breast of her blue jumpsuit. A jumpsuit, he noted, that flattered her in a way that even the girls at Harbor in their Fashion Valley boutique dresses would have envied. The same "kid" with the jade green eyes that could have sucked the soul right out of him if it hadn't been for Summer. She was the one who listened without comment as he told her what he needed. Seth was glad he'd memorized his mother's checklist. He would have felt even more foolish than he already did if he'd had to flip down the visor and read the list to her.

"I know she's hot. So?" Seth glanced over irritably at the empty passenger seat. His attention; however, drifted back to watching Chris in his side mirror as she walked to the gas pump. "She's not my type."

With the gas pumping, Chris pulled the squeegee from its tank and began alternately soaping and wiping off the rear window of the Range Rover. Seth couldn't help but notice her in the rear view mirror. He watched as she stretched to reach the top of the window. As much as he wanted to he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

"Summer's my type!" He snapped still staring into his rear view mirror as she worked her way around the truck. "That's not funny. Summer's my soul mate. We have a connection." Seth forced himself to stop watching the girl and stared ahead with a sour expression. "She just hasn't realized it yet. Okay?"

When Chris reached the passenger window, she leaned in. "You like _Rooney_?"

"What?" Seth said flustered. "Oh the group." Their latest CD was in the Range Rovers's player. "Yeah, they're great."

"I thought so. I saw you singing along to the music. I like them too. You know, they're coming to LA in January." Chris paused and after considering Seth's blank expression shrugged and gestured for him to raise the window so she could finish.

"Shut up. Just shut up." Seth said through clenched teeth. "I don't take advice about women from the ectoplasmicly challenged.

Chris finished the windows and went about completing the other tasks needed to make the Range Rover Chino ready. Her expression had slipped bank intocourteous neutral. Seth supposed that when you tended to the whims of the hyper wealthy you didn't question their requests or discourage them from wasting their money. He thought he could read in the occasional glance she gave him and in her body language, however, her real opinion of the necessity of repeating things she'd last done only six days previously. He hoped it was that and not a commentary on the lameness of his conversation and his social retardation.

The thought of having to repeat this exercise week after week for the next two months was excruciating. Part of the deal with his mother, however, was that he had to present a receipt from this station every week to prove he was keeping to their bargain. There was nothing that he could say to Chris, no explanation he could offer her, that wouldn't make him seem hopelessly pathetic. Seth would rather have this girl think he had obsessive/compulsive disorder than know the truth - his mother wouldn't let him have the keys to the car unless he completed her checklist every time. He hoped there was a merciful god in heaven because he so didn't want to have to go through this with Chris every week. He'd been sending fervent prayers heavenward since he'd caught sight of her red ponytail coming toward him this afternoon. But unless his mother relaxed her rules, he knew he'd be visiting this same Chevron station at this same time every Wednesday until his volunteering in Chino was over.

"Come again, Seth." She'd said with professional correctness when she collected his credit card slip. Seth hated the dumb smile he knew had been plastered on his face as she stepped back from the truck.

xxxxx

_Ninety-five percen._ His head bobbed in time to the vibrations from the car's wheels on the road. He wasn't going to let thoughts of this morning's embarrassment or anything else drag him down today. He felt psyched. Energized. His good spirits slipped when he glimpsed a flash of green in his rearview mirror.

He'd been sure Kirsten was exaggerating when she'd warned him about the dangers of car rage, freeway vigilantism, and car-jackings. They had seemed to him to be based more on the lurid tales broadcast during television sweeps months than what he'd be likely to encounter on his trips to Chino. At least, that had been his opinion until Psycho Soccer Mom showed up. That's how he thought of her and her green minivan with its **Soccer Moms Kick Ass** sticker. She'd added her own brand of freeway lunacy to the general dysfunction of the Southern California highway system just an onramp after the Newport Beach entrance.

Soccer Mom had gotten his attention immediately by cutting into his lane of traffic with only feet to spare between their two cars as she merged onto the freeway. Seth sourly concluded that you couldn't really call what she did a merge. It more closely resembled a game of chicken. This was a contest Seth chose to lose rather than end up in an emergency room.

With disquieting regularity, as the two vehicles raced each other across Los Angeles to Chino, Seth and Soccer Mom had intersected and interacted repeatedly. In each instance the results had skirted the edge of disastrous for Seth. For whatever reason, whether to gain a few minutes or just general perverseness, Soccer Mom had ridden his tail, passed him on the shoulder, cut in front of him without signaling, and nearly run him off the road while talking on her cellphone. Her dangerous antics had made this trip an exercise in extreme paranoia for Seth.

"I'm not getting off the freeway." Seth muttered. "She can't scare me." He scanned the lanes ahead and behind him. He thought of it as simple prudence – defensive driving. "Ha, ha, very funny," he said defensively. "I just don't want to be late to my first class. No, and I'm not afraid of getting lost if I get off the freeway either."

So Seth persevered but try as he might nothing he did seemed to separate him from Soccer Mom for long. Now with his GPS telling him that the off ramp he wanted was only two exits away he moved over early into the right hand lane and slowed down to the speed limit. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her bumper sticker disappear quickly into the distance. His relief vanished when a fender bender at the next off ramp found him pulling up alongside of her in the slow moving traffic edging around the accident. _Don't make eye contact – don't make eye contact_. That was his mantra. His exit was next. When he reached that exit, he'd be done with her.

His concentration was shattered by the unexpected sound of a horn to his left. A rush of green accompanied this sound as the minivan from hell swerved into Seth's lane. The cruise control disengaged as he braked sharply. Right hand turn signal flashing, the minivan raced him for the off ramp. As he worked to avoid hitting her, he wondered if he was about to be rear-ended. A glance into the rearview mirror relieved him of that concern. The car behind him had miraculously been following at the correct distance and so missed him as the Range Rover began its looping descent off the freeway.

When Seth arrived at the traffic signal at the bottom of the ramp, he found himself side by side with the green minivan once more. He got his first good look at its driver then and saw a pleasant looking matronly type who could have been a schoolteacher. The woman's whole attention was fixed, however, on the traffic coming from her left. She was concentrating, with all the intensity of a cat outside a mouse hole, waiting for any break in the traffic that would allow her to make her right turn. She frowned as no opening appeared and the traffic signal stayed red. Her attention strayed then out of frustration to the car beside her and she registered, for the first time, the black Range Rover also waiting at the light. Raising her eyes higher she made eye contact with Seth. Completely unprepared for that, Seth did the first thing that popped into his mind and gave a friendly wave to Psycho Soccer Mom. At that moment, the oncoming traffic began to thin out and with a curl of her lip she returned her own one-fingered salute and sped off.

After the insanity of the freeway trip, Seth found driving on the streets of a still unfamiliar Chino, during rush hour, relaxing. The truth about his first trip to Chino on his first official day on the job would definitely have to be sanitized. The truth wasn't something he could share with the parental units. The remainder of the short trip to Edison Avenue where the Chino Valley YMCA was located passed with merciful uneventfulness.

Seth pulled up outside the Y with lots of time to spare before his first class. He immediately began to search for a parking spot. This too had been covered in his mother's meticulous directions. His instructions were to park only in a lighted lot with an attendant on duty. It was here; however, that Kirsten's carefully thought out plan for keeping Seth safe began to fail. There were no spots available in any of the lots in the vicinity of the YMCA that met all of her requirements. After his third trip around the Y looking, Seth made an executive decision. He would have to violate this one rule in order to get to his first class on time.

He resolved to simply take the closest parking space to the Y he could find. He saw several on-street spaces in his cruise down Edison before he spotted the perfect space. It was almost directly in front of the YMCA and under a street light. The police station was four blocks north of this spot and Chino's city hall was two blocks south of it. How could his mother complain about him parking on the street here?

It wasn't an absolutely perfect spot from his personal point of view, however. It would require him to parallel park. Seth couldn't recall having had to use that particular skill since his driving test. It was so not a Newport kind of thing.

"I am keeping a positive attitude," he insisted as he neared the space. "Damn, wouldn't you know that there'd have to be a witness to my humiliation?"

Sitting on a bench, directly in front of the parking space he'd selected, was a guy smoking a cigarette. The thought came to Seth. _Doesn't he know that that stuff can kill him?_ The guy was dressed in boots, black jeans, and a white wifebeater. He lounged on the bench, his arms stretched across the back of the bench watching, with an air of indifference, the world go by.

Seth was struck by two conflicting emotions as he brought the Range Rover to a stop, its nose even with the driver's window of the car parked in front of his intended spot. The first feeling was envy at how totally cool the dude looked sitting there. This was quickly followed by apprehension because he reminded Seth of all the school and camp bullies who had ever terrorized him. Not as well dressed as the Newport variety of bully he was familiar with, Seth's spidey-sense nevertheless gave off pulses that caused his stomach to tighten more than even the thought of parallel parking.

"I am cool!" Seth fumed. "If it's so easy, let's see you do it." Seth groaned and closed his eyes. _God, I wonder if he saw me talking to myself?_ Seth took a deep breath, released it, cranked the wheel hard to the right, and shifted into reverse. It worked just like his driving instructor said it would. He'd always assumed that passing that section of his driving test had been a fluke. But, here he was sitting parked in the Range Rover on the main street of Chino, California, after an effortless piece of parallel parking. Seth Cohen felt good about himself. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

Seth hit the unlock button on his remote as he climbed out of the truck. There were four boxes of computer manuals and software in the back that he'd conned his folks into buying for the computer lab. He hadn't given any thought to the weight of the boxes before. He'd assumed that he'd get a parking space in the YMCA's lot. Now, looking at the basketball courts and landscaping that separated the Y from the street, he guessed he'd have to make several trips.

He checked the parking meter and dropped in two quarters. That would get him past five o'clock when parking became free on the street. His parking had been excellent and so there was no rational reason for him to feel either uncomfortable or defensive about his driving or anything else for that matter. He only knew that an appeal to logic wasn't working on the snakes crawling around inside of stomach. In the presence of guys who radiated self-confidence like the blond kid on the bench, he'd never feel relaxed. In his heart of hearts, he knew that he'd always find some way to screw up and confirm to this guy that he was a dork.

As he walked to the rear of the truck, Seth glanced as casually as he could at the guy on the bench. He was chagrined to see that his spectator wore a frown and was shaking his head slowly. Self-consciously he looked at the Range Rover. It was the proper distance from the curb and from the cars ahead of and behind it. He could see nothing that would explain this reaction. The kid was playing some kind of mind game with him. Seth resolved to ignore him and his opinion.

Pulling one of the bankers boxes out of the rear of the truck Seth balanced it on the bumper and held it in place with his knee as he closed the hatch and hit the lock on his remote. Trying for casual, he hoisted the box with as much nonchalance as he could muster. He had to walk past the bench on the way to the Y and Seth hoped that his watcher wouldn't notice the difficulty he was having with the box. As Seth passed him, the boy looked up and caught Seth's eye.

"You shouldn't park there."

"Why?" Seth asked defensively. "I don't see any fire hydrants, no-parking signs, or any special parking restrictions. The spot looks good to me." He was determined not to be intimidated. He had a chance for a new start in Chino. He refused to fall back into the old patterns. He didn't have time for whatever problem this guy had. Besides, the box was heavy and he had three more to get to the computer lab.

"It's not a _good_ spot," the kid repeated as he flicked his cigarette into the street. He reached for the backpack sitting beside him on the bench and pulled a red ball from its outside pocket. Leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the kid stared at his left hand as he began kneading the ball. He looked up at Seth through sandy blond hair that hung down into his eyes. "It's not a safe spot for _that car._

Seth's irritation and impatience were increasing as the box grew steadily heavier in his hands. He rested the box on a metal trash receptacle next to the bench. "I get it," he said angrily. "If I pay you money, you'll make sure that nothing happens to my car while it's parked here. Just like in TJ. It's not going to happen, buddy."

The kid on the bench said nothing. He only continued to watch Seth and to squeeze the ball. His blue eyes held Seth's. They gave nothing away.

Surprised that he'd neither confirmed nor denied his accusation, Seth frowned. "If that's not it, then what? Why's this a bad spot?"

The boy answered Seth's question with a question. "How long are you going to park here?"

"Four, maybe five hours," Seth answered.

"In about an hour your car will be the only one left on this block. I'd move it if I were you."

Seth looked around him at the busy street and the businesses open along it. It made no sense to him. His confusion must have shown on his face.

"Everything around here closes at 6:00 p.m. The neighborhood's deserted then."

"Even so, I'm under a street light and the police station is just up the street. Why should I worry," Seth asked?

The kid shrugged and turned his attention back to the ball in his hand. "Suit yourself."

There was something - Seth wasn't sure what - but he believed this stranger. The problem was he'd already spent almost an hour looking for an off-street parking space and hadn't found one. "Where would you suggest I move? All the lots are full around here. I've looked."

The blond kid with the very blue eyes gave him a knowing look and nodded. "Yeah, but you got here too early. The lots start emptying out a little after 5:00 p.m. All, that is, except for the one by the Y. It stays full until they close at 10:00 p.m. I can show you where to park or I can give you directions. Whichever." Looking at the box balanced on the refuse container and then at Seth, he asked, "Do you have many of those?"

"Four."

"None of the lots I can show you will be as close as this to the Y. Do you want some help?" The ball disappeared back into the guy's backpack. He got to his feet without waiting for Seth's answer and slipped into his backpack. He stood at ease in front of Seth, waiting for an answer, his left hand still opening and closing.

Seth answered without ever questioning the offer. "Thanks. That sounds like a plan." He unlocked the rear hatch again and handed his helper a box. Relocking the truck he retrieved the box from where he'd left it balanced on a trash receptacle. Seth noted enviously how easily the stranger stood holding his box. Determined not to look like a wimp in front of him, he picked up his own box. Seth wondered in what heretofore undiscovered corner of his psyche this competitive macho behavior had been hiding. He hated it and wished it would crawl back into its hole. Seth nodded to the stranger and kept pace with him as they walked toward the Y.

"My name's Seth - Seth Cohen. Sorry I can't shake." Seth said indicating with a nod their boxes. The kid nodded but didn't offer any comment. "So who am I getting a hernia with this evening?" Seth asked sarcastically.

"Ryan."

"Well, Ryan, thanks a lot. These are going to the computer lab on the first floor. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah. I'm going to be sitting there all evening. I'm taking two classes."

"Cool. I'm the one teaching them." He was suddenly afraid that maybe Ryan wouldn't think so and Seth really hoped he'd think it was cool. "That's cool, right?" He'd never before had anyone like Ryan talk to him like he wasn't something revolting floating on top of a stagnant pond. He knew he thought **that** was definitely cool. Maybe Chino would be a new start for him.

"Yeah, it's cool." Ryan gave him a sidelong look. "Do you know what you're doing? I've invested $50 in this."

It came as something of a shock to Seth to think that people had actually paid money to take his classes and expected value for their money. "Don't have a clue." Seth said with a laugh. At Ryan's sharp look he hastened to add. "Just kidding. I got my first computer when I was five. The director of the center only wanted intro classes in their new lab, at first. I can handle that. I hope you won't be bored."

"Weren't many computers at my old school and I never got much time on them. It won't be boring."

"Where'd you graduate? I'm still doing hard time at Harbor School out in Newport. It doesn't seem like my senior year will ever get here. Mom wants me to go to college at UCLA, to be close to home, or Berkeley, where they went. Dad says I should listen to my heart and do what it calls me to do. But, then he gets all sentimental and starts hugging." Seth shivered. "Me, I want to go back East. Get away from this whole California scene." Ryan's amused expression brought Seth up short as he realized what he was doing. "Sorry, man, I tend to babble. If I talk too much tell me. Do you think that could be a problem in class? I've been worrying that it could be a problem in class; but I couldn't think of a way to know if it was happening. Maybe you could help me out? If I lose it in class you could like sneeze or something. That would be our private signal that I'd gone into babble mode and needed to gear back." Seth looked over at his companion. Ryan had stopped and was staring at him. Unnerved by the seriousness of his expression Seth gave a little laugh. "Not inspiring a whole lot of confidence in the student, I see."

"Didn't graduate." Ryan turned back toward the Y and began to walk. "Senseless babble, you can count on it." Seth watched as his helper released his grip on the box's handles and slipped his arms around it, his left hand clinched into a fist. "I can cough," Ryan offered.

"Good contribution. Coughing is good. I've got tissues in one of these boxes if you need like props. We're getting into the cold and flu season. Never can be too careful about spreading germs."

Ryan paused again. His head cocked to one side he gave Seth an appraising look. "Not so much." A smile slowly lighted up his face.

It was like all the lights in Chino had been turned on for Seth Cohen. Later he realized that they'd just turned the lights on for the basketball courts but with or without pyrotechnics he knew he had a friend. "Oh, the strong silent type, the stereotypical laconic westerner." Ryan coughed loudly.

The boys arrived at the entrance to the Y and Seth hit the handicap entrance button with his elbow. As they waited for the door to open, Seth's smile turned into a broad grin as he took in the look of irritation on Ryan's face. "Dude, you would so go crazy at my house; although you and my mom would have some things in common."

"Hey, do you like video games?" Seth asked as he led the way to the lab. "I brought this great new game with me to fill in the dead time. We could, like, try it out after we get the lab set up if you wanted. It's called _Grand Theft Auto."_

_AN: The next chapter Bienvenidos a Chino, Puto will be up 2/7._

_AN2: The OC and its characters belong to Josh Schwartz and his various corporations and corporate masters, not me. _


	6. The Real Chino: Bienvenido a Chino, Puto

AN: A thank you to the eagle eyed reader who corrected my Spanish. Many thanks to those who are taking this trip with me and I too am glad the boys are finally together where they're supposed to be.

Disclaimer: I have to be doing this for fun because there is certainly no profit in it for me.

VAMPING THE OC

Part 1

The Real Chino

Bienvenido a Chino, Puto

The shutdown message flashed on the computer monitor's screen and Ryan flipped off the power switch on its surge protector. All the computers in the new Chino Valley YMCA computer lab were off now. At the front of the lab Seth was trying to pack up the materials he planned to take home, balance a tiny cell phone between his ear and shoulder, and carry on a conversation with his mother. Ryan could tell from the pained expression on Seth's face that this was a conversation he did not want to be having. He tried not to listen; but with the hum of the last computer stilled, it was impossible for him not to hear.

"Mom, please, I'm not a little kid. The class ended at nine o'clock. I am trying to get out of here. But things, like this call, keep interrupting me." Seth sighed loudly. "I don't know when I'll be home." Ryan watched Seth's chin sink onto his chest. "I know what I promised." He looked up and, seeing Ryan, rolled his eyes, as together they shared one of the age old rites of adolescence - teaching the parent to let go. "But, I need to get something to eat. There is? Who made it?" Pause. "I repeat; I need to stop and get something to eat."

Ryan saw the irritation on Seth's face change suddenly into a look of surprised interest. "Where are you guys? There's a lot of noise at your end. Are you at a party?" Seth stopped stuffing books into his backpack and stood looking up at the ceiling, his head cocked to one side, a finger in his ear. "Oh, really! I never heard about that. How long will you be gone? No I didn't. I do too listen to you!" Seth smiled at Ryan and shook his head no.

"No, I could not have because I had my first classes tonight at the Y and there is such a thing as school tomorrow. A guy still likes to know; however, where his aging parents are and if he should expect them to come home." He continued in a plaintive tone. "How am I supposed to plan a rocking the-parents-are-out-of-town party if you don't give me any advance notice? There are girls to invite, beer to order, and the local dealer to contact for the requisite recreational drug de jour. You know the usual thousand and one details that go into planning the perfect Newport teen scene party." Seth jerked the cell phone away from his ear. "Just kidding, Mom. Chill already! I haven't been to a party of my peers since you bribed Julie Cooper into inviting me to Marissa's tenth birthday party. You remember what a highlight of my prepubescent life that was? Luke almost drowned me in the Cooper swimming pool." Seth looked down at the floor. "Yeah, I know, he said it was an accident. I accepted his apology there, in front of everyone, didn't I?"

Ryan leaned against the wall by the door fascinated by this mother/son dialogue. He tried to remember the last time that Dawn had shown this much interest in what he was doing or when he'd be home. It probably hadn't happened since he'd become the other one - the other teenager in the house. When she'd been drinking, Dawn would tell anyone who'd listen, including her sons, that she'd gotten married too young and had her kids too soon. It was so unfair that she had to raise two teenagers all alone. She had too much living yet to do to be tied down with all this baggage.

Seth mouthed something at Ryan as he listened to his mother. Ryan interpreted his lip movements as **soon**. "Mom, if you want me home by midnight, you've got to get off the line and let me get on the road. No, I will not promise to call you when I get home. What would that prove? I could call you from anywhere and say I was home." Seth paced back and forth behind the desk as he talked. "If you call me after I've gone to bed, I won't answer the phone so, again, what would that prove? You'll just have to trust me. Rosa and I have managed without you guys before. I will do my best to be home by midnight."

Seth listened and shook his head. "Goodnight mom, I hope you and dad have a good time." He paused. "I can't believe you said that too me in the middle of a party. Are there people around you?" Seth's free hand came up and he began to knead his forehead. "Do any of these people know me? They don't know you're talking to me, do they? Mom!" Seth punched the disconnect button on his cell phone and flipped the cover shut.

The look of disgust on Seth's face brought a smile from Ryan that he quickly suppressed. "You ready to go," Ryan asked? Seth crammed one last computer manual into his already full backpack. Seemingly satisfied that he had everything he'd need, Seth took hold of one of the backpack's shoulder straps and started to pick it up when Ryan chuckled. "Do you need to take **that** much stuff home?"

Seth looked down in surprise at the backpack's bulging sides and gave it an experimental tug. The backpack rose perhaps six inches before landing back on the desk with a loud thud. "I guess I lost track of what I was doing. You're right. I definitely don't need all this." A mound of manuals quickly grew on Seth's desk. Ryan scooped up these excess books and deposited them in the cabinet reserved for materials for Seth's two classes. Closing the cabinet's doors, he waited for Seth to bring him the key. As Ryan locked the doors, Seth swept the lab with his eyes for anything he'd missed. "This time I think we're good to go." Seth hoisted the now lighter backpack onto his shoulder. "You get the door. I'll turn out the lights."

The two boys walked down the hallway toward the main entrance of the Y. "Thanks for helping me close up. If my mom knew, she'd send you a thank you note. Don't smile. It's true. Kirsten Cohen has the fastest pen in Newport for the thank you notes. Believe me, you'd rate one for helping me get out of Chino faster." As they stepped out of the air-conditioned coolness of the building, they ran head-on into the muggy heat of Chino in the early fall. "Where's your car parked?"

Ryan pointed to a lone bike chained to a rack by the entrance. Walking over to it, he knelt down beside the bike and unlocked the padlock. As he pulled the bike out of the rack and walked back to where Seth waited, Ryan could feel his face burning. He was grateful for the poor light that hid his embarrassment. "I guess most kids where you're from have their own car?"

"Yeah. Just about everyone I know who has a license. There's even this kid, he's only a freshman at Harbor, and his parents bought him a Corvette. It's parked in their garage waiting until he has his license. I hear he lets his friends come over and sit in it for 5.00. God! Where's the justice in that?"

Seth's complaints about the unfairness of life brought no response from his audience of one. Ryan kept his attention focused on the pavement as they walked down the sidewalk toward the street. "That is, at least, everyone who has normal parents has one. My Dad went straight from the Bronx to Berkley and didn't have a car until he was a Junior in college. He didn't even have a license until he was eighteen." Seth continued sourly. "That's not my truck I'm driving tonight. It's my mom's. At home, my only wheels are attached to a skateboard." This time it was Seth's turn to blush. He hurriedly added, "It's actually good exercise, great for the calf muscles, does wonders for your balance, and is good practice for snowboarding. Still pretty lame though, huh? Even a bike puts you a leg up on me in the cool department." Seth wasn't looking at Ryan as he said this and so missed the look of surprise on Ryan's face.

"So, you don't get to use the car much?"

"As much as I want," Seth said. As he stopped to adjust the strap of his backpack, he added, "They let me drive to COMICON in San Diego over Labor Day."

"Oh, then they make you take the bus to school?" Ryan remembered his own years on the school bus and what could happen to nerdy kids like Seth.

"To Harbor?" Seth laughed. "One of the parents drops me off at school and then one of them or Rosa, she's our housekeeper, picks me up. How humiliating is that? I'll be seventeen soon and my parents are still driving me to school. If they have their way, they'll drive me to graduation."

Ryan tried to reconcile Seth's attitude with what Seth was telling him. Finally, still hopelessly confused, he asked, "But they make you pay for your own gas and insurance?"

Seth gave Ryan a puzzled look. "No, I've got a credit card for car stuff and they take care of the insurance. I do my part though. I get the car washed and serviced and I take it to be detailed once a month so Mom doesn't have to deal with it. I make sure there's always a fresh air deodorizer in the car," he said proudly.

Ryan shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. He didn't know what the hell Seth was complaining about. He decided it must all be a matter of perspective.

Ryan watched Seth out of the corner of his eye as he surveyed the street in front of the YMCA. The street was, just as he'd forecast, empty of parked cars and almost devoid of traffic. Seth turned from looking at the deserted street to the bike Ryan was pushing along side of him. "How far are you going? I could give you a lift, if you wanted. Not that I think it's like late, or too dark to be riding a bike, or anything. Dude, I'm sure you're comfortable with the hour and totally able to take care of yourself. I just thought that I'd like a ride if it was me; but, of course, you aren't me. You're nothing like me. So you probably don't. Forget I said anything." Seth's voice faded away to indistinguishable mutterings.

That was exactly what Ryan intended. He wasn't taking any rides from Seth. He wasn't going anywhere with Seth. He had no intention of letting this kid into his life. "Thanks, but I'm not going far. It is in the same direction as the lot you're parked in though." When they reached the street, Ryan turned north with Seth. He was unobtrusive about it, but Ryan made sure that he walked on the street side. "I'll walk with you as far as the parking lot, if you don't mind?"

"Cool."

Earlier in the evening, as they'd worked together to set up the lab, Seth had regaled Ryan with an account of what he'd described as his mother's hormonally induced fantasies about Chino. Ryan didn't say anything during Seth's recital of Chino's potential dangers. He only listened; but privately he thought that Seth's mother was right. Someone like Seth had no business wandering about alone on the streets of Chino at night - even on a weeknight. That was why Ryan was now walking away from his room at the Chino Motel and toward Seth's parking space. If Seth thought he went home this way, he'd have no reason for suspicion if Ryan walked him to his car every week.

"Do you think it went okay?" Seth asked excitedly. He hurried on before Ryan had a chance to answer. "I think people got it. I mean what I was trying to do tonight. But, what do you think, Ryan? Did I ramble too much? I hope you didn't get hoarse from all the coughing you did. That was a good idea though. It got me back on course every time I started to wander." Ryan decided that most of Seth's questions were rhetorical and that he neither expected nor wanted an answer. He certainly didn't leave time for one. A nod was apparently all the input that Seth really required from a listener. Ryan could do that. He had the meaningful nod thing down cold.

"Did I bore everyone? Did I bore you? I was so afraid that I'd be boring and people would be like snoring right through my class. Maybe I should be a teacher. Can you see me in front of a class?" Seth struck what Ryan supposed was meant to be a pedagogical stance. "I always thought I'd be a writer or creator of graphic novels but maybe this is my real calling." Seth pumped the air with his fist. He looked over at Ryan with an sheepish expression. "Sorry, dude, but I am so up after tonight!"

Ryan stayed alert as they walked. His eyes roved over the street and the neighborhood around them. He was alert for potential problems and so he was only half listening to what Seth was saying. He supposed at some point Seth would run down; and then, if he really wanted Ryan's opinion, he'd give him a chance to voice it. So Ryan had walked several steps past him before he realized that Seth had stopped walking and had asked him a question to which he apparently expected an answer.

"I'm sorry, what?" Ryan stopped and looked back at Seth who was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

Seth repeated his question patiently. "I said, do you know someplace I can get something to eat around here?"

Ryan walked back to where Seth stood waiting under a street lamp. "What about your mom and getting home by midnight?"

"I told her I was getting something to eat before I went home. There's no way I'm going to eat something mom made if I have an alternative. So, that's what I need to know. What are my alternatives and, Ryan, my standards aren't that high. You've never experienced my mom's cooking." Seth shivered melodramatically.

"Well, there's Gwennie's. It's open all night and the food's good."

"Would they have pancakes now," Seth asked with interest?

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because, Ryan, Gwennie's can be the first stop on the Seth Cohen Pancake Tour of North America." At Ryan's blank look Seth said, "Kerouac." But at the squint this drew from Ryan, he elaborated. "A Beat Generation author who wrote about a pancake tour of North America he made in his book, On the Road. It's one of my favorites. I intend to do my own tour when I make my escape from Newport."

Ryan's eyebrows lifted. "What's to escape from?"

Seth's life looked pretty good to Ryan. He was rich, or at least his parents were; and he went to a private school that even Ryan, here in Chino, had heard of. It was true that Seth had parents who worried about him and who coddled him in an embarrassingly old fashioned way; but having had experience with a different kind of parenting, that sounded pretty good to Ryan. How bad could life be in Newport? Ryan couldn't see that Seth had any real problems that were worth giving all that up for.

"Where to start?" Seth stopped the bouncing and his cheerfully manic mood turned off as though a switch had been thrown. He met Ryan's questioning look directly. "The bullies at school have been ragging on me since my first day at Harbor. Neither my body nor my belongings are safe from their depredations during gym or at any other time I encounter them in school or anywhere else."

Seth hesitated for a moment. "The girl I've… The girl I've been in love with since the second grade thinks I'm a total spaz and won't give me the time of day. Actually, that pretty much sums up the general feeling among the members, male and female, of Homo Harboris." Seth spread his hands. "Ryan, here I stand, a loser, who after eight years at the Harbor School has not one friend there."

"Finally to place the maraschino cherry atop this gooey confection of woes, my parents don't have a clue that I'm having any problems. As long as I bring home the grades they expect and don't get busted for anything, for them, everything is fine in Cohenville." Ryan saw that Seth's eyes had grown shiny under the light of the street lamp as he talked. "So, to sum up, Ryan: I'm miserable at school and at home and all alone with no friends to share any of this with."

Ryan blinked and looked away, embarrassed for Seth. Ryan was lost. He didn't know what to say to Seth; but he hated his cowardly silence that followed Seth's explanation. It seemed to him to be like a canyon between them whose far rim receded faster and faster into the distance as the silence stretched on. This guy, who'd been a stranger to him four hours ago, had in his pain and loneliness shared more with Ryan about his life than anyone else he'd ever known. He felt he knew Seth now as well as he did Theresa whom he'd grown up with. Seth had spilled his guts to him and deserved an honest response from him. But, Ryan avoided emotions and didn't talk about or share his feelings with anyone.

When he and Theresa had still been together he'd thought that he knew what she wanted. Then it had seemed that all she needed from him was for him to be with her, to hold her, to keep her safe until whatever had hurt or frightened her went away. After they drifted apart he thought perhaps she'd wanted more from him, an emotional commitment to her that he hadn't been able or willing to make. He hoped she'd finally found what she needed with her new boyfriend. Maybe that was what Seth needed from someone. Ryan felt relief that he had the solid reality of the bike as a reminder to keep his distance from this kid.

Ryan did what he was able to do. He reached out to Seth and took his arm. "Hey, I thought you wanted to get something to eat?" Ryan wanted desperately to distract him and lighten the mood. From the way he'd lapsed into silence after his outburst, Ryan guessed that Seth was also embarrassed by his admissions and would welcome a way to climb out of the emotional hole he'd dug for himself.

Ryan didn't want to hear any more of Seth's story tonight. He didn't want to feel an obligation to this rich kid from Orange County to share his story. Ryan worked hard at keeping the past separate from the day-to-day struggle for survival in Chino. He didn't need anyone around him who wanted to swap life stories. Seth's life was too different from his. He was too innocent. Ryan guessed that Seth didn't really want to hear his story anyway. He seemed too self-absorbed to spend much of his time on other people's lives and their problems.

Seth looked at him and nodded slowly. "Right, the pancakes."

Ryan ignored the redness in Seth's eyes. "Well, let's get something to eat then and stop standing around."

As Ryan drew back his hand, an empty beer bottle exploded on the curb spraying their legs and the sidewalk with splinters of glass. A red convertible, riding low to the ground, had stopped while Ryan was distracted. Now it idled quietly in the street near them. The four men in the car, all in their twenties, stared at the boys. One, the one who didn't have a bottle in his hand, was standing up on the passenger side of the car. He leaned casually against the windshield, a smirk on his face. "Hey Atwood, you handling boys now? How much you asking?" He pointed to Seth. "He's kind of scrawny. You won't get much for him; but bring him over. Let's get a look at the new talent." He motioned for Ryan and Seth to come closer. Neither boy moved.

"Hey, Vic, what's up?" Ryan asked calmly. He could feel Seth's eyes on him or maybe it was just embarrassment heating up his neck. He would have offered Seth a word of reassurance if he had been sure what was going on. But, Ryan didn't know how serious or interested in trouble Vic and his boys were tonight. "You and I have a problem I don't know about?"

The guy vaulted easily over the door and out onto the street. He stood watching them, motionless, muscular arms crossed over a broad chest that was barely contained by a black mesh T-shirt. A thin smile, devoid of warmth, played on his handsome face. "Yeah, you keep sticking your nose into things that don't concern you, Atwood. Taylor's not one of yours. She and I were just having a little disagreement, a lovers' quarrel," He said this with a sneer that robbed his face of its good looks and made a lie of his words. "There was no cause for you to get involved. We were working it out when you barged in. You need to learn to mind your own business."

"Anytime you're willing to go one-on-one, Vic." Ryan's head came up as he looked pointedly past Vic at the guys sitting quietly in the car. "Doesn't look like that's what you've got in mind tonight though. And Vic, Taylor ended up in ER with three broken fingers as a result of your 'little disagreement'. You don't treat a woman like that when I'm around." As Ryan said this he swung his bike around so that now it was between the boys and the occupants of the convertible.

"Ryan, what's going on?" Seth was excited but also apprehensive to find himself in the middle of one of his mom's worst case scenarios.

His attention centered on Vic and his friends , Ryan could spare only the briefest glance at Seth. "Seth, if I tell you to run, ditch the backpack and do it. Head north, the direction we were walking, as fast as you can. The police station's that way and they won't follow you there. Okay?"

"Hey, Puto," One of the guys in the car's backseat called out to Ryan. "I hear the boys in Juvie and Crawford House like the little blondes. They give those that come their way a **real** education. You putting your **education** to work, Atwood?" Ryan watched the mouthy one push himself up to sit on the back of his seat where he had a better view. "I think the skinny one's worried, Vic, that there won't be enough of Atwood left after we're finished with him for him to get his money's worth." His friends in the car found this hilarious and a second bottle hit the sidewalk at their feet.

"Vic, if you've got a problem with me, take it up with **me**. Leave the kid out of it." Ryan gestured toward Seth who stood listening, a look of disbelief on his face. "He just started teaching classes at the Y tonight." Ryan knew he needed to try and get Seth out of and away from this business if he could. "He's on his way to pick up his car at Sanford's lot up the street. Let him go."

"Ryan's taking my classes. He goes this way to get home so we were walking together,"

Leaning back against the convertible, the smile on Vic's face broadened. "Ryan lives at the Chino Motel, kid, which happens to be back in the opposite direction. But that's a good story."

Seth glanced at Ryan in confusion. Ryan only gave a slight shake of his head and said under his breath, "Later."

"Kid, if you get tired of little men and want more for your money…" Vic stopped and his right hand slid down the front of his tight, black jeans to his crotch. "Look me up."

Seth's eyes were wide but he had a determined look on his face, as he shrugged out of his backpack and let it slide to the ground at his feet. He kept his eyes on the car's occupants as he questioned Ryan. "What about you, Ryan? I run and you stay here and, what, get the shit kicked out of you by your friends over there? Why don't we both beat it? They couldn't catch you on your bike and I'm pretty fast. I'm not on Harbor's track team but I've had a couple of footraces with some of its members and some players on the soccer team, too. I almost always got away when I had this much of a start on them."

Ryan shrugged and watched as the doors of the convertible opened and the two men in the backseat started to climb out. "Seth, just do what I told you and you'll be alright. I'm not going to fight them if I can help it. I'll just delay them until you're clear. Then I'll split. Don't worry. I'll be okay. This isn't your problem."

"That's your plan?" Seth noted with dismay the size of the three men now standing by the side of the convertible talking. "I run away while you take on guys by yourself who look like each of them bench press more than I weigh? That's a monumentally dumb idea, Ryan. A good general never divides his forces. I'll stay with you and have your back. I won't be much use in a fight; but if I can keep just one of them busy chasing me, or more likely, using my face for a punching bag, that's one less that you'll have to handle." Seth straightened and stood taller. "Improves the odds for you and it allows me to put my years of being a doormat for Harbor's goons to some use."

Seeing a scowl starting to form on Ryan's face, Seth hurried on. "When I saw you sitting on the bench this evening, I thought you were like all the other punks that had ever hassled me. I was wrong. But, I decided before I ever got out of my car that things were going to be different from now on. I was going to be a mensch. I was tired of always just taking it. Issue number one of **The New Adventures of Seth Cohen** appears tonight." Seth did a little bob and weave thing with his upper body. "I'll float like a butterfly and sting like a bee." Seth answered Ryan's look of bewildered astonishment with a broad, happy smile. "The title needs to be punchier, I know. We can work on it together later."

Before Ryan had a chance to comment on the idiocy of Seth's plan a Chino black and white cruiser drove slowly north on Edison Avenue. The officers inside hit their lights and siren when they saw the stopped car and the men standing outside of it. The median strip running down the center of Edison; however, meant that they had to go to the next intersection, two blocks away, before they could make a U-turn and get back to where Ryan and Seth were.

Vic frowned at the interruption and waved his men back into the car. From the passenger's side of the front seat, he glared at Ryan. "This isn't finished, Ryan," he shouted. "Your brother's a punk and you're just like him. " Pointing at Seth he looked him up and down before saying. "And puto, bienvenido a Chino, we'll have this conversation again when I have more time. Count on it." The convertible sped south on Edison and was soon nothing but a pair of red taillights in the dark.

Broken glass crunched under the tires of the police cruiser as it pulled up to the curb. A tall, sandy haired police officer got out of the passenger side and came over to the boys. "What about them. They're getting away! Aren't you going after them?" Seth demanded excitedly.

The cop looked at him calmly. "My partner radioed in the information on the car. Chino has a policy against hot pursuit chases unless lives are at risk. Is that the case here?" At Seth's shake of his head, he went on. "Didn't think so. Are you okay?" At Seth's subdued yes, he turned his attention to Ryan. "How about you, Ryan? What happened here?" Without seeing Seth's face, Ryan knew that the officer's use of his first name surprised him.

Ryan met the officer's stare for a moment and then looked away. "Officer James, I didn't think you worked on Wednesday."

The officer, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered revolver, took in the broken glass scattered around. "Esparza needed some time off. So…?" He gestured at the glass.

"Nothing happened." Ryan's eyes were fixed on a spot on the officer's chest just above his badge.

"Just a case of over exuberant littering, officer." Both Ryan and the officer turned to stare at Seth who smiled back at them with wide-eyed innocence.

"If that's all it was, why were those guys getting out of their car? Why did they leave so fast when they saw us?"

Ryan shrugged and did not meet the officer's eyes. He hated dealing with the police. There was always the chance that his fake ID wouldn't work some time or he'd end up at a police station and someone there would recognize him. Then his created persona of Ryan Alwood, age 21, would be discovered. They'd find out that he was Ryan Atwood, 16, a runaway from Crawford House. He realized that he'd clenched his left fist and relaxed it slowly, shaking his hand to relax the tension. "Like I said, nothing happened, Officer James."

The patrolman's eyes narrowed as he considered Ryan. Then he turned back to Seth who'd been paying close attention to their exchange. "Let's see your ID, kid. You too, Ryan." He pursed his lips and looked hard at Seth as he examined his license. "Newport Beach. You're a long way from home, son." He handed the boys' licenses to his partner in the car who spoke quietly into his radio. "What brings you to Chino so late at night, Mr. Cohen? There's an eleven o'clock curfew here for young people your age on weeknights." His face wore a thoughtful expression as his head swung back and forth between the two boys studying them.

"I started teaching night classes – computer classes - at the Chino Valley YMCA tonight. Ryan's in both classes and we were going to my car. We were minding our own business when the bottles landed near us."

Ryan watched Seth as he answered the officer. He tried to keep his face neutral, not showing anything, but he was worried that Seth might say too much.

"Did the guys in the convertible throw the bottles?"

Standing off to the side of the officer, Ryan gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and was relieved when Seth said, "No, I didn't see who threw them."

"Then why were you so anxious that we go after that car a few minutes ago?"

Seth hesitated before answering. "I don't know. Isn't that how it works? People run and the police chase them,"

The patrolman looked up from the notebook he'd pulled from his pocket and frowned. "Sometimes. Why were the guys out of their car?"

"Maybe they stopped to help get the glass off the sidewalk and street? Sort of like good Samaritans," Seth answered the officer deadpan.

The officer's eyebrows went up at this and his opinion of Seth's theory could be seen clearly on his face. His frown morphed into a scowl as he flipped close his pad. "And, I suppose they left so suddenly because one of them had to go rescue his grandmother's cat from a tree?"

Seth shrugged.

The policeman retrieved their ID's from his partner. "Remember what I said about curfew, Mr. Cohen. You're going home now?" Ryan thought the officer's comment sounded more like an order than a question.

"Actually I was going to a place called Gwennie's that Ryan told me about. I need coffee and food before I drive home."

The officer handed them their ID's. "That's a good choice. You going to show him how to get there, Ryan?" At Ryan's nod, he continued. "Stay out of trouble you two. I want a quiet night tonight."

As the officer walked back to the cruiser, Ryan muttered under his breath, "I don't cause trouble."

The policeman paused as he was about to climb into his patrol car. He turned and caught Ryan's eye. "No, you don't **cause** trouble Alwood but trouble has a way of searching you out. Ryan, don't make me sorry that I'm doing a favor for a friend tonight."

As the patrol car pulled away from the curb, Ryan held up a hand to forestall the questions from Seth that he saw in his eyes, piling up like the water in a tidal wave about to crash over him. "I could use some coffee. I talk better when I have coffee." Seth's very visible struggle to restrain himself would have been funny if Ryan didn't find the prospect of the upcoming conversation so grim.

"Okay, you're reprieved Ryan **Alwood** but only until coffee." Ryan heard the emphasis Seth placed on his last name. He'd used Alwood on his application at the Y and that's what the police office had called him but Vic and his friend had called him Atwood. _Damn! It's going to be a long night_.

AN: Major gap coming up. I'm going to Seattle for 10 days so the earliest that the nest chapter, The Uses of Silence, can be posted is the 28th. Hopefully this chapter was long enough to make up for the wait.


	7. The Real Chino: The Uses of Silence

A.N. I keep telling myself that I do this for fun. I don't own nothing OC related and so must be doing this for recreational purposes.

VAMPING THE OC

Part I

**The Real Chino**

The Uses of Silence

"Turn right at the next light."

The sound of Ryan's voice was as welcome as it was unexpected. Seth checked the clock on the dashboard. Seven minutes and forty-five seconds. That was how long it had been since the sound of a human voice had been heard in the truck. Being honest with himself, Seth had to acknowledge that this was how long it had been since he'd last said anything. Ryan had so far ignored all of his efforts to draw him into a conversation. _It must be fifteen minutes since Ryan said anything. _

Seth's first instinct was to take those brief driving instructions as signs of life in his passenger and not simply an indication that Ryan was just trying to get them to their destination. _He probably just wants to get rid of me. _The thought further darkened his mood andRyan's expression did nothing to lighten it. His face was as distant and closed to him as it had been since he'd tossed his bike into the back of the Range Rover and climbed in beside Seth.

Seth had never had the experience of making a friend. In this area of life he was as much a virgin as he was with the whole guy/gal thing. Ridicule had been his constant companion since grade school. Rejection had been added to the mix as he entered adolescence. The two had shadowed him ever since.

In the seventh grade during a fit of depression conjoined with a short lived passion for things medieval he'd created a heraldic device for himself - a Seth Cohen coat of arms. His device consisted of human footprints _or _from bottom to topon a _sable _band _sinister_. To complete his arms he'd adopted a motto which he placed on a ribbon at the bottom of his device: _Run Away and Live to Fight Another Day._ On either side of his device and holding it aloft he placed, like heraldic beasts, RIDICULE and REJECTION _rampant._

One particularly bad Friday at Harbor had provided him with forms and faces for his beasts. REJECTION was a leopard, lithe and svelte, with claws extended and Summer's face. Across the device reared RIDICULE, a Chimera. Seth enjoyed the notion of placing Luke's handsome face atop an animal with the body of a goat and the wings of an eagle. The fire spitting from his mouth completed the picture for Seth.

When he turned fifteen, he decided that he'd been a dumb shit back then. Still he saved the device and carefully hid it and protected it with a password on the hard drive of his computer. It represented too much truth to be sent to the recycle bin. He'd spent his whole life running away from things both literally and figuratively. For after all, weren't the snarky put downs of Harbor and its students only a way of distancing himself from the one thing, friends, he wanted most but couldn't seem to acquire?

What did he know about friends or friendship? He didn't know what a person who'd take on the responsibility of him as a friend would be like. What kind of baggage would someone who liked Seth Cohen bring with him? He found the thought a little daunting. Would they need to be as unique as he knew he was? There certainly was no reason to believe that a normal person would see anything of worth in him.

Seth frowned as his fingers drummed on the steering wheel. He knew that a proclivity for long, brooding silences had not made it onto the top 100 list of desirable characteristics for a FOS (Friend of Seth). He was also positive that being the possessor of a big, dark, hairy monster of a secret – the kind that could get you mugged or worse on a city street – had also not made it onto that list. Seth had spent his middle school years creating and refining his FOS list. It had taken the bruising reality of his Freshman Year only a day to demonstrate its uselessness. His list had then joined his coat of arms behind a password on his computer.

Secrets, Seth reflected, in and of themselves weren't necessarily a negative in a friendship. He understood all too well how there could be humiliations too painful or too personal to want to share. Secrets could add spice to a relationship, as could a certain amount of mystery. They made a person more interesting - less boring. Seth hated boring, predictable people. Still he couldn't quite rid himself of the worry that maybe the ancient Chinese curse also extended to knowing interesting people.

I shouldn't have to worry about being seen with the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, should I? But he was willing to take on a car full of goons to protect me! In the world of the OC, where no one had ever been willing to even speak up in his defense, Ryan's actions were totally mind blowing. If all it cost him to spend more time with this kid was buying him a meal, Seth considered it a cheap price to pay to pretend for another hour that he had a friend.

Besides not knowing how to go about identifying a potential friend, or how to actually make one, he also didn't know how to **be** someone's friend. What would his responsibilities be to a person who was his friend? All of his knowledge on these subjects was secondhand, based on reading, buddy movies and television. In works of pop culture people like them, who had nothing in common, usually began their relationship disliking, if not actively hating, each other. Friendship then developed out of shared experiences. He thought it a poor omen for the future of their relationship that he'd liked this taciturn boy from Chino from the moment they'd met.

Seth told himself that the thing on the street with Vic had been a fluke. He didn't know why he'd refused Ryan's offer to cover his ass and stayed with him instead to face Vic. Temporary insanity caused by testosterone poisoning suggested itself to him.

He knew he had nothing to offer anyone and it was unlikely that someone like Ryan would ever think of him as a friend. Ryan had appeared at first glance to be the kind of kid who, in Seth's extensive experience, took an instant, active dislike to him and wasted no effort hiding those feelings. He'd been kinder than the run of the mill Harbor goon but Seth would not let himself make the mistake of confusing what was probably only pity for friendship. He was sure that Ryan wanted to dump him as soon as possible.

But, it was just creepy how well he seemed to understand Ryan. It wasn't unpleasant - just weird. Seth reflected that you shouldn't really know much of anything about someone after an acquaintanceship of only a few hours. Yet he'd found Ryan's reaction to the Range Rover so totally what he expected that he would have laughed if he hadn't been worried about Ryan's reaction.

As Ryan had climbed into the passenger seat, there had been the tilt of the head, the squint, and the sardonic half smile as he took in the DVD system built into the truck's roof and the copy of Finding Nemo in the storage bin between the front seats. That small smile had been the last reaction Seth had had out of Ryan. He was dismayed by how much he felt this withdrawal. Maybe, if being shut out hurt this badly after so short a period of time, he didn't want a friend.

As he drove, Seth wondered how anyone who wasn't asleep or dead could go so long without speaking. He found the concept unnatural and unsettling. For the sake of his sanity, he decided to give Ryan one more chance.

"That's interesting," he commented, as the SUV made the turn at the indicated light.

"What?"

"I said that's interesting. I mean the way people are always shortening the things they say. Always using the bare minimum of words that will convey their meaning," Seth explained. "You said, 'turn right at the next light,' but you actually meant turn right at the next traffic light. But I understood you. I just think it's interesting how people use shortcuts to convey information and use non-verbal ways to communicate. There's a world of information to be gleaned by non-verbal means."

"Yeah, but the people I've known who do it talk a lot less than you do," Ryan observed dryly. "They aren't afraid of silence either. They know silence has its uses." Ryan didn't look at Seth; but Seth saw him shift in his seat and make a show of adjusting his seat belt.

Seth didn't buy it. His guess was that Ryan had finally sorted out in his mind the night's events and was willing to talk now. It was none too soon for Seth. A myriad of questions churned in his mind. Seth knew that he had to allow this almost stranger time; but the need for patience, never one of his virtues, and the silence were frying his nerves.

"I'm not afraid of silence," Seth said primly. "It mystifies me, yes. It does not frighten me. I suppose, in theory, a shared silence might serve some useful function in relationships; but as for me, every minute not spent talking is a minute lost to me forever to listen and learn things about others or to contribute something to those around me."

Ryan snorted loudly. "When does that listening part happen?"

"Okay, maybe I'm a little deficient in the listening department and maybe that was a little pretentious." Seth spotted the barest trace of a smile on Ryan's face. It was gone almost as soon as it flickered into existence. "I'm a friendless, only child of a pair of workaholic parents whom I rarely see. What do you expect? I have a lot of pent up conversational needs. When I find a sympathetic listener, I unload on them. Anyone brave or dumb enough to be my friend will have to be prepared to endure years of stored up babble." He risked a quick glance at Ryan to see if he'd gotten a reaction from him.

Seth stared thoughtfully into the distance. "I guess I never considered or cared much about what it was like for the person on the receiving end. Sorry." Seth donned his best sympathy inducing, pathetic, whipped puppy face and directed it at Ryan. "I know you said to wait for Gwennie's but is there any chance you'd let me ask just one question? I'm suffering a meltdown over here."

"One!" Ryan agreed emphatically.

Seth had so many questions bottled up inside of him that he didn't know how to limit himself to just one. He feared that if he opened his mouth everything might spill out and he'd drown Ryan in a flood of interrogatives. It worried him that all of the questions that he wanted to ask about this evening's events seemed to be interrelated; and he feared that they each had a stinger in them for Ryan. He needed to proceed cautiously with empathy. He didn't want to scare Ryan back into his silent shell. The need to show concern for someone else's feelings was a foreign concept for him. _Maybe worrying about this stuff is part of what being a friend is. A question about his family should be safe. _

"So you have a brother named Trey. I always thought I'd like to have a brother. Do you have any other family?"

Seth watched in dismay the play of expressions across Ryan's face. There was a brief shadow of what might have been sadness but it was quickly blotted out by anger. A blank mask then dropped down that gave nothing away.

"There's just Trey and me and our…" Ryan hesitated fractionally, "folks."

_In for a penny, in for a pound, _Seth thought. "Do you still live with them."

"No." Ryan spit out.

Seth noticed by the light of the dashboard console that Ryan's left hand was squeezed into a fist - a fist that he was squeezing so tightly that the blood had disappeared from his knuckles, leaving them starkly outlined against the back of his tanned hand.

"My dad's been in jail for ten years for armed robbery and my mom isn't around anymore."

Seth caught the defiant look Ryan shot him as he said this. _He thinks I'll be shocked about his father._ In truth, it was the other part of his statement that surprised Seth more. "What do you mean 'isn't around anymore'?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I went to our old house as soon as I had a chance but she was gone. She and her boyfriend moved out of our house in the middle of the night while I was in Juvie. No one knew where she went. When I asked around about her the landlord tried to get me to pay the rent she skipped out on. Haven't heard from her; haven't tried to find her; don't want to find her." Ryan said flatly.

_Urgent need to change subject, Cohen._ "So it's just you and your brother then?" Ryan's bark of laughter dismayed Seth. "What did I say?"

"Trey's in jail for grand theft auto. With all his priors, he'll be lucky to be out before our Dad." Ryan pushed the armrest back into the seat angrily. "Great family, huh?" He pointed suddenly. "That's Gwennie's up ahead."

A.N. Well, I missed the posting date I set for myself for this chapter. Sorry. The next chapter, "Gwennie's," should be up the week of the 14th. I'll give myself a little more wiggle room. Nothing OC related beyond eating at P F Chang's got done during my stay in Seattle. I heartily recommend the lemon scallops.

For some reason I backslid into my old writing style in this chapter. I really do know how to write clear, simple, uncomplicated sentences and will attempt to do better in the future. I find it very time consuming, however, to go back and untangle myself when this happens. So, in the interest of getting back on schedule, I posted anyway. Sorry, again.


	8. The Real Chino: Gwennie's

Vamping the OC

Part I

The Real Chino

Gwennie's

"Where are the horses?" Seth asked as he guided the Range Rover into a parking space. His eyes travelled over the large rambling wooden structure that was Gwennie's.

"Horses?" Seth thought he saw Ryan's lips twitch.

Seth ignored Ryan. "Aren't those hitching posts?" He asked pointing to stone posts with large metal rings set into their tops that were spaced along a circular gravel path which led up to the entrance of Gwennie's from the street. "They must tie them up in back now so these newfangled horseless carriages don't spook them." Seth turned back toward Ryan who was watching him from the passenger seat. Now Seth was sure of it – Ryan was smiling. _Someone who understands my sense of humor!_

Seth climbed out of the Range Rover to get a better look at the building and because Ryan had promised he'd get food here. He tried to be patient but his stomach was tying itself into knots. He hadn't been able to keep anything down before tonight's classes and now he was starving. Ryan followed Seth out and leaned against the Range Rover, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

The building and the grounds surrounding Gwennie's were meticulously maintained and brightly illuminated. It looked nothing like the restaurant Seth had expected. Gwennie's resembled a Hollywood version of a hotel from two centuries ago. It was a large, two-story wooden building, built of white clapboard, and had a deep porch on both floors that enclosed the three sides of the building that Seth could see. The palm trees and other semitropical plants that filled the flowerbeds that surrounded it on the grounds were a little incongruous. Seth supposed, however, that if you didn't have desert southwest in mind and thought more along the lines of an oasis in the desert they weren't really such an anachronism.

"Is it real or a reconstruction?" Seth asked.

"It's real. The brochure says the first part of the main building went up in 1891. It's on the National Registry of Historic Buildings. The exterior, except for the ramp over there, is original." Ryan gestured to a row of hedges flanking the porch. "That they added to be ADA compliant. Doesn't look anything like the building that was here when we moved down from Fresno. Old man Stavros had to make some compromises inside for the sake of modern plumbing and the needs of a restaurant kitchen but other than that it's as authentic as someone with all the money in the world could make it. It looks great inside. They restored the library on the first floow to the way it looked in 1910. It even has the same books. And in the grand foyer," Ryan made a sweeping gesture with his hands, "there's a Tiffany skylight above a double staircase going up to the second floor."

Seth was amazed at the animation that had come into Ryan's voice as he talked about the building. Some of that surprise must have shown on his face because Ryan ducked his head in embarrassment as he stammered to a stop. "Sorry, I guess I just like old buildings."

Ryan placed his backpack on the hood of the SUV and pulled out a plastic bag that contained a black silk shirt neatly folded inside. He pulled the shirt on over his wifebeater and tucked the shirttails inside the waistband of his jeans. "Work clothes," He explained. "I keep them with me just in case."

He tossed his backpack into the SUV. In answer to Seth's unvoiced question Ryan cocked his head and pointed to a brick path leading off to their right. It led to a smaller building at the rear of the property.

"Food's this way," he said leading Seth toward the other building. "After 10:00 o'clock only the restaurant in the stable is open. The regulars know that. That's why the cars are all at that end of the parking lot."

Seth frowned as he looked back toward their parking space. The lot was brightly lit but they were the only vehicle parked near the street. "Should I move the truck? Mom would have a coronary if I got her car trashed again." Ryan looked a question at him and Seth flushed. "It's complicated. A guy who worked on the pier invited me to a totally awesome party this summer. There were oceans of beer and semi-clad girls dancing on tables."

Ryan shot him a look out of the side of his eye. "The Range Rover…?"

"Yeah, the Range Rover. It sort of got an extreme makeover." Seth seemed to take a sudden interest in the plantings of tropical foliage lining the walk. "Mom somehow got the impression that the "makeover" happened in the IMAX parking lot while I was watching a shark movie."

"What about the guy that invited you to the party? I thought you didn't have any friends in Newport."

"Er, there was like this other party a couple of nights later that involved gun shots and a trip to the ER in an ambulance."

Ryan stopped. "You got shot?"

"No, someone else did, one of the Harbor gonzos that have made my high school life so memorable. Someone needed to ride with him to the hospital." Seth walked on leaving Ryan standing in the path staring after him. "It was my fault. I owed Luke."

Ryan caught up with Seth who'd stopped in front of a sign announcing Gwennie's and The Stables. "Nothing like that would ever happen here, Seth. Mr. Stavros wouldn't allow it. The truck's safe where it is."

"So we're actually going to be eating in a building that used to be a stable?

"Yeah. That a problem?"

"You haven't eaten my Mom's cooking." Seth grinned. "Believe me; it's not a problem. What's the symbol?" Seth asked pointing to a symbol in silver paint in the bottom corner of the sign.

"It's the logo of The Stavros Group. The entertainment division of The Stavros Group has its offices on the second floor of Gwennie's." Seth nodded but continued to study the sign. "It looks like a stylized Ankh," At Ryan's blank expression he elaborated. "Ancient Egyptian symbol for life. It's an odd logo for an entertainment company."

Ryan checked his shirt and ran his fingers nervously through his hair as they approached the entrance. "Do you think I could pass for a kid from Newport?"

"Haven't you ever been here before?"

Ryan took a breath and pushed open the door. "Not exactly. I've driven people here and waited for them but I haven't actually been inside."

A hostess greeted them at the door and seated them at a table near the center of the dining room. The large room took up most of the ground floor of the old stables. Up above them in the area that must have been haylofts originally, Seth saw rooms partitioned off from each other. In some of them he could see parties eating, in others empty tables sat waiting for guests, while others had heavy maroon drapes pulled across their front closing them off from the view of the diners on the main floor. Seth indicated the balconied rooms above.

"Private dining rooms. People can leave the curtains open or closed depending on whether they want to see or be seen or need their privacy."

"I suppose they have private entrances." Seth said rubbernecking to see if he recognized anyone eating upstairs. Ryan had said that sometimes people from the movie and TV industry came out to Gwennie's for some privacy. Disappointed by his failure to see anyone from "The Valley," he picked up the menu and turned to the breakfast section looking for pancakes.

"What do you think – German Apple or Swedish?" Whatever advice Ryan would have given was covered up by the sound of Ryan's name being called out by a very attractive – no, Seth mentally corrected – by a beautiful young woman. Ryan, who'd had his back to the door and so had missed her arrival with two other women, turned toward the sound of his name. He got up from his chair as the brunette hurried across the dining room toward him.

The girl, Seth realized now as she drew closer, crossed the sparsely occupied dining room quickly despite wearing heels that astonished Seth with their height. He found her ability to even stay upright on the four-inch spikes astounding. The tightness of her dress seemed to cause her more difficulties than her heels. She still managed to leave her two older companions behind as she hurried to their table. Ryan barely had time to raise his arms before she threw herself into them and began to kiss him.

Seth had to remind himself to shut his mouth as he took in the sight of this beautiful girl who seemed to want to mold herself to Ryan's body. Ryan returned her first kiss with an ease and thoroughness that made Seth wish he'd had the foresight to bring a camera with him tonight to Chino. He was certain he could profit from a rigorous study of Ryan's kissing technique. Someday, after all, the whole girl kissing, making out thing, might not be only of theoretical interest for the distant future.

When the girl showed no signs of releasing him, Ryan attempted to gently untangle himself from her embrace. As her fingers tightened their grip on Ryan's shirt, Seth noticed the splints on her fingers. He realized then that she must be the girl that Vic had confronted Ryan about earlier that evening. That would explain the thanks she was expressing to him so effusively in between kisses but not why she seemed determined to do the physically impossible and occupy the same space as Ryan.

Ryan's embarrassment was palpable. His ears had turned a shade of red only slightly paler than that of his assailant's dress. Seth could hear chuckles coming from some of the tables around them. They had even attracted the attention of a diner in one of the balcony rooms. A young man in a tuxedo stared down with interest at the scene below him. As Seth watched he beckoned over to him a man also dressed in a tuxedo who'd been out of sight at the rear of the compartment. He pointed out to him the couple kissing below. After a brief conversation, Seth saw the second man leave the box and the young man turned his attention back to the girl sharing his table.

Unsure whether Ryan either wanted or needed rescuing from the tolls of this young woman and conscious of the attention they were attracting, Seth was saved from having to take any action himself by the timely arrival of Taylor's two friends. Their laughter surprised him but the older of the two seemed to know what to do.

"I'd throw cold water on you two if Mr. Stavros didn't hate spectacles in his establishments. That is just what you're making of yourself Taylor. Unhand that boy; and Ryan," She looked him up and down. "You stop enjoying yourself so much and let go of her."

"Marie, no hands." Ryan managed to get out. He looked at her with wide, innocent, blue eyes as he raised his open hands. He was still, however, clasped tightly in the embrace of the amply endowed young woman who gave no indication that she had any intention of releasing him.

Annoyed by Taylor's failure to respond, Marie stood for a moment, her hands on her hips, considering the possibilities. Seth, upon reaching the conclusion that the cold water option might, in fact, be the only feasible solution, had moved Ryan's water glass out of her reach when he noticed her stiffen. The third woman had whispered something to Marie and her attention had been drawn away from Ryan and Taylor and to something behind them. Seth turned to see what had caught her attention and saw that the second man from the balcony was now leaning casually against a pillar across the room watching them. Marie began to search the private rooms above and paled visibly when she spotted the young man in the tuxedo.

"Taylor," Marie said quietly. "Mr. Stavros is here tonight. He's watching you right now."

That's all it took. Taylor jumped away from Ryan as though shocked. She immediately began to smooth down her skirt that had ridden up during her enthusiastic display of gratitude but not so quickly that Seth couldn't observe how shapely her legs were.

"Marie, I'm sorry. I didn't think." Taylor stammered.

"No, it was my fault Marie," Ryan interjected. "I shouldn't have let it go on that long." This earned him a worshipful look from Taylor but a frown from Marie.

"Obviously not. Taylor, I warned you about that lipstick. You need to fix your makeup and Ryan you need to remove yours."

Seth smiled at Ryan as he colored.. "She's right Ryan. You're a Spring and that lipstick is definitely meant for a Winter. It's not your color at all."

Ryan scowled at Seth.

"Don't worry about your new friend. We'll stay here and keep him company, Ryan. Make sure he doesn't get too lonely." Marie exchanged smiles with the other woman. "But I know you have better manners than that, honey. Introduce us to this cutie."

Seth resisted the urge to turn and see who it was she was calling "cutie." Instead he watched Ryan. He could almost see the gears spinning and meshing together behind his eyes. For some reason he seemed reluctant to take Marie's suggestion. Seth may have been able to help Ryan make his decision by cheerfully pointing out on his own face where all the lipstick smears were on Ryan's.

"Marie Jackson, Celeste Wells this is Seth Cohen. I won't be long, Seth. I'll be right back." With that perfunctory and grudging introduction he took Taylor's elbow and guided her toward the restrooms at the back of the restaurant. Seth saw him look over his shoulder once, a worried expression on his face, before disappearing from sight.

Marie settled herself into Ryan's now vacant chair beside Seth and the woman he'd introduced as Celeste took the seat opposite him. Marie smiled warmly at Seth although he thought there seemed to be a certain calculating interest in her appraisal of him.

"How long have you known my Ryan?"

"We just met tonight," Seth answered. He was intrigued as to how Ryan could know three such beautiful women, at least one of whom had more than just friendship on her mind.

Marie and Celeste were older than Taylor. He guessed that Marie might be over thirty and Celeste a few years younger. Both were expensively but more conservatively dressed than Taylor if his years of forced attendance at Newpsie charity fashion shows was any guide. Marie wore a purple dress that suited here café au lait skin and black hair. She was taller than Taylor and favovered shorter heels. Marie had moved across the dining room in a comfortable, assured, manner that made Taylor's youth all the more obvious. She had drawn as many appreciative looks from the male diners as had the younger, flashier girl.

Celeste, the quiet one, was merely pretty in the company of these two women. She was short like Taylor but had chosen not to go for the extreme heels. Her dress was a deep blue that matched her eyes and like Marie she avoided the youthful brevity of Taylor's hemline. Celeste was pale as though she had chosen not to follow the California religion of sun worship. Seth, despite being a boob man, had noticed nothing wrong with the legs of either of the two older women.

"Tonight," Marie said thoughtfully. "It's good to see that Ryan is finally taking my advice. There's no reason for a good-looking boy like him to stay home on his nights off. His excuse is always lack of money but I've told him that was a non-excuse because I knew people," Marie said shaking her head as though at the foolishness of the young. "He's a very stubborn young man," She offered and Celeste nodded in agreement. "That's a nice car you have Seth," Marie waved a waiter to their table.

Seth found it difficult to follow the woman's conversation. Everything she said seemed to be a non sequitur. "Thanks." He wasn't going to admit to her that it was his mother's. A guy had some pride.

Marie ordered an ice tea for herself and a Chardonnay for Celeste. "I'm the designated driver tonight," She said with a smile. "We're having a girl's night out, right, Celeste? No men tonight!" The two women laughed as though at a shared joke. "Where are you from Seth?"

"Newport." He'd never had to carry on an extended conversation with a girl his own age and the strain of having to talk with someone older and as intimidatingly beautiful as Marie had reduced him to one word answers. He saw her brow crease at his answer and, desperate to say something so as not to seem totally retarded, blurted out, "I met Ryan at the YMCA tonight."

Celeste, who'd just taken a sip of her wine, choked noisily on it and had to take a drink from theglass of water Seth handed her. It helped her stop what to Seth seemed suspiciously like choked off laughter. Seth was perplexed by her laughter and looked at Marie to see what her reaction was. Marie's expression was one of bland politeness although he thought that he detected a gleam in her eyes.

"Chino is a long way to come to get your… muscles toned," She said with an air of casual innocence. Her remark sent poor Celeste into another paroxysm of choking. "Perhaps that wine doesn't agree with you, Celeste. Would you like to switch to ice tea?" She asked solicitously. The other woman only shook her head as she attempted to catch her breath.

"It just went down the wrong pipe, Marie. I'm fine."

"Muscles, no! Cohen's don't do anything that makes them sweat. I started teaching computer classes at the Y tonight. Ryan's in both of them," Seth explained. "I needed food after class and Ryan offered to show me the best restaurant in Chino. I'm going to treat him to dinner. Ryan seems to be pretty uptight about a lot of things. If I'm going to get him to relax – get anything out of him - I thought dinner might do the trick."

Marie's eyebrows went up and she smiled knowingly. "It's been known to work before."

Seth attributed her smile and Celeste's chuckle to the inscrutable ways of those past 30. "How do you know Ryan?"

Marie smiled. "Ryan works for us. He helped us out of a difficult situation once and now he's our driver when we go out at night on appointments. He's very protective and makes sure that we get home safely. I probably don't pay him enough for all he does for us." Marie sighed. "But a woman has to think about her future and I've offered to find him additional work that pays better." Marie exchanged a look with her friend. "Ryan always said he could take care of himself. I guess he was right," She said smiling at Seth. "Tell me about the classes you teach. They sound interesting."

Seth couldn't imagine why someone like her would think anything he did was interesting but it was something he could talk about without thinking so he humored her. "They're just introduction to computer classes. Ryan has a talent for that stuff. He's very smart. You only have to tell him something once and he's got it. I don't get why someone as smart as he is didn't finish high school."

"Probably because he's only sixteen," Marie suggested. At Seth's surprise she continued. "You'd have to ask Ryan why he isn't in school. I told him he should at least get his GED. Maybe he'll listen to you. You seem to have a personal interest in him." She gave him a friendly smile. "You can't do anything if your underage so Ryan just added a few years to his age. It makes things easier for him with the cops and to get into the places he needs to be when he's out on a job with us. He can look over 21 if he wants to which is handy. I think Taylor forgets how old he is sometimes."

"Taylor seemed very… grateful for the help Ryan gave her with Vic." Marie gave him a surprised look and he explained. "Ryan and I ran into Vic and some of his friends this evening and I heard about her hand."

Marie's face darkened. "That was a very unpleasant business. Taylor should have known better than to get involved with Victor but she's young and let her hormones get the better of her. Girls like these bad boys." Seth saw Celeste and Marie exchange sad smiles. "I suppose it goes with being young but if Ryan hadn't gotten there when he did..."

"Maybe she's learned her lesson." Celeste suggested.

Marie shook her head. "I don't think that's likely and now she's gotten Ryan in trouble with Vic. That could be bad. Ryan's stubborn and doesn't back down and Vic's dangerous.

"It was totally awesome how Ryan stood up to Vic and his friends tonight. He was willing to take them on all alone. It was like Gary Cooper in "High Noon" or Jet Li in "Hero." He was so calm and I stayed with him. I didn't leave when he told me to. I didn't want to!" Seth said in amazement. "I was calm too. We seemed to have this connection. It was like if we stood together we couldn't lose. It was so cool."

"No one's ever stood up for me when I was in trouble. Vic was giving off all these strange vibes. He seemed to think that Ryan was either my pimp or my boyfriend. That's pretty funny, isn't it? That would make me…" Seth trailed off as he realized what he'd said.

Marie filled in the pause. "A hustler or a john. Vic does have a warped sense of humor." Marie looked past Seth and smiled. "Ah, here come my two wayward children now."

Seth turned in his chair to watch them. Ryan had his arm once again on Taylor's elbow. As they threaded their way through the tables and diners scattered around, Seth noticed that the girl from the dining room upstairs and another man, also in a tuxedo, had now joined the man Marie had pointed out to Taylor earlier. The girl was also dressed formally in black as though for an evening out. She said something to the new man; and from the sudden stiffness of his body, Seth guessed it was not something he wanted to hear. Whatever the man's problem, the girl resolved it simply by gesturing to the balcony above them where her companion sat watching.

Marie and Celeste watched as the two young people approached the table. "Ryan, Seth was just telling me that you two met Vic and some of his friends tonight." Marie's tone was very cold. Taylor gave Ryan a frightened look. "Were you going to tell me?"

Ryan studied the carpet. "Nothing to tell. You know. Vic's mostly talk."

"But Ryan…" Seth was cut off by a glare from Ryan.

Marie looked from Seth to Ryan. "Come in early tomorrow night, Ryan. I want to hear about this talk about nothing you had with Vic." She turned so that she was addressing them both now. "I'm not sure that either of you is old enough to be allowed out on your own. You, miss, we'll have our talk tonight."

"Marie," Taylor started.

The older woman cut her off. "You can not use Ryan as your personal protector. He can't be around all the time to rescue you when you make dumb decisions. That kind of thinking can get both of you hurt or worse. You know what Victor's like and now you've got Mr. Stavros interested in Ryan." Seth thought he saw Marie's eyes shift over to the group standing across the dining room from them.

Marie shifted her gaze back to the young man in front of her. She pursed her lips before smiling. "Ryan, enjoy the rest of your night. You deserve some fun." Seth watched as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Before she pulled back Seth saw her whisper something to him. Seth saw the color rise back into Ryan's ears and wondered what she could have said that had that effect on him. Then, with a dazzling smile directed at Seth, she and the other women followed the hostess toward the stairs leading to the upper dining rooms.

A.N. If anyone is anal about proper punctuation of dialogue this is not, I'm afraid, the author to read. Sorry. Who knew in Junior High that I'd ever need that particular skill. Hopefully you can follow who's saying what to whom.

Chapter 10 is going slowly so mydate for Chapter 9 of April 1st is highly tentative. I'll try not to make it an April Fool Joke.

Disclaimer: All the characters in The OC Universe are other people's creations.


	9. The Real Chino: Justine

VAMPING THE OC

Part I

The Real Chino

Justine

Ryan slumped into his chair, his expression thoughtful and introspective. Seth watched as Ryan's eyes tracked the women as they crossed the room. He had to fight the urge to blurt out the first thing that came to mind; but he wanted Ryan's attention back on him. Seth had almost worked himself up to asking Ryan a question when he saw that the three people who'd been watching them from across the room were now headed for their table. The young woman walked ahead of the two men, who followed three paces behind and flanked her on either side. Now that Seth could get a better look at the men he decided that for all their tuxedos they carried themselves like security.

One was tall and lanky. And while he didn't look old enough to drive was probably in his twenties. He had tightly curled ash blond hair that covered his head like a skull cap and the kind of fair complexion that probably showed color if he walked across a room. The other guard was shorter and older, perhaps thirty, with an olive complexion. He wore his black hair long, pulled back into a braid.

Seth was struck by the way the two men carried themselves. They moved like gymnasts or dancers, he thought. Neither big nor beefy they conveyed an impression of precision, litheness, and danger – the suppleness and elegance of a rapier rather than the solidity and directness of a saber – in their movements. Seth shook his head, wondering where the imagery his mind provided might have come from. A_ll I camefor were some pancakes_.

The eyes of both men roamed the room observing, evaluating, and categorizing diners and staff alike. Seth knew in the rational corner of his brain that he should have been relieved to be considered unworthy of notice by these men. Nevertheless, he still felt a pang of envy that as they got closer the shorter of the two men found something about Ryan that attracted his attention. Seth saw his eyes touch and linger on Ryan several times. Whatever question Ryan raised in that guard's mind, it seemed ultimately to rate no more than a look of puzzlement from him.

Seth was grateful for this. A little interest would have been okay; but he had no desire to be near anyone who could elicit from them the cold, flinty-eyed stares that the two men directed toward a couple seated near the bar. The man and woman had arrived while Ryan and Taylor were out of the dining room. Now they sat watching as the three people from upstairs moved toward Ryan and Seth. Their drinks sat in front of them, ignored. They made no effort to disguise their interest in what was happening. Their attention was focused entirely on the girl. An interest that Seth found totally creepy. It seemed to be composed of an unnatural mix of equal parts awe and naked hunger.

The girl's guards for their part returned this attention with equal bluntness and a cold anger that seemed to sharpen their features. Their faces were well trained but Seth saw flicker in the men's eyes another emotion, something darker and more elemental, that he couldn't identify. He felt a little frisson of dread. _This is a restaurant in LA not a tavern on the way to Castle Frankenstein._ He silently promised himself he'd consider moderating his horror movie intake.

The girl; however, seemed oblivious to the people around her, her two escorts, or the air of barely contained danger that surrounded them. She approached the boys' table with a smile. Seth tapped Ryan on the forearm with a finger and gestured toward the girl and her companions. "Ryan, we've got incoming."

"Incoming? What are you talking about?" Ryan asked in confusion as he turned in his chair. He spotted the party heading their way and frowned. "Oh. Incoming,"

The guards separated as they approached Seth and Ryan. The short guard walked past their table and took upposition, his back to them, facing the bar and the couple with the ugly desire so clearly visible on their faces. The younger man fell behind the girl as she walked on toward their table. He stopped a dozen feet from them, facedaway from them and took up watch on the other half of the room. Seth supposed the stations they'd assumed were meant to give the illusion of privacy to those at their table. It didn't work for him. He didn't believe for a minute that the older man nearest their table couldn't hear everything that was said at it. He wondered who their little act was meant to fool - them or the girl.

The girl walked the last few steps to their table and stopped. "I have a message for Ryan Atwood," she said quietly, her attention fixed on Ryan. Seth wondered when he'd acquired the invisibility cloak. She hadn't given him so much as a flicker of an eye the entire length of the dining room.

Ryan slowly stood and Seth followed his lead. "I'm Ryan _Alwood_," He said emphasizing his last name. He returned the young woman's stare.

Seth's gaze went back and forth between the two young people. They both wore similar expressions that he guessed might best be described as uncertain. As the silence dragged on, Seth had almost decided that an appropriately snarky comment was called for when the girl's expression slowly changed to one of confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?" She frowned.

_She's even pretty when she frowns. _Seth felt a momentary twinge of guilt at this implied unfaithfulness to Summer.

"_Alwood_! My name is Ryan Alwood." Seth heard the emphasis again on the last name. Studying his friend's face he resolved that he'd never play poker for money with Ryan.

As she paused, apparently uncertain how to proceed, Seth saw the nearer of her two guards look back over his shoulder and make eye contact with her. She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts and apologized, "I'm sorry. I was sure my brother said Atwood. I must have been mistaken." She smiled brightly. "I know he was quite definite that the message was for someone at this table named Ryan. So it must be for you Mr. Alwood. My brother would like to meet you."

"Your brother?" Ryan asked eyeing her two guards warily. His hands gripped the back of his chair.

"Nicholas Stavros, Ryan. He said he only needed a few minutes of your time."

Ryan, his face closed and guarded, considered the girl for a moment before turning to Seth. "You go ahead and order, Seth. Don't wait on me. I'll be back soon." He nodded at the girl who stood still staring at him. The look of puzzled confusion had returned.

"Ryan?" There was a question in Seth's voice.

"It's only going to be a few minutes, right, Miss Stavros?" Ryan's voice was cool.

"Yes, that's right." It seemed as though the act of having to talk swept all her confusion away. She nodded. "Only a few minutes. Christian here will take you upstairs." The tall, blond guard turned to face them and stepped forward. He stood at ease, eyeing Ryan, while he waitedfor Ryan to make up his mind..

Seth found himself taking an immediate dislike to Christian. He was sure that it was the man's vanity that had caused him to buy studs of lapis lazuli for hisshirt that exactly matched the color of his eyes. The blue of his eyes was so bright that Seth could distinguish this even at a distance. As Seth waited for Ryan to come to a decision, the thought bubbled up from the depths of his inferiority complex: he probably has dimples.

"Nicky asked me to keep your friend company, Mr. Alwood. He said it would be rude to leave him all alone down here." Justine smiled and this time she included Seth in the warmth of that smile. It irritated Seth to realize how happy he was to be included in the smile. _Grateful for crumbs, huh, Cohen?_ She cocked her head waiting for Ryan's decision. "Nicky's waiting, Ryan."

Ryan shrugged and giving Seth a last lookwalked over to where Christian stood waiting for him. Christian turned and led him toward the staircase to the upper floor. Seth, finally rememberied the manners that his mother had paid so much money to have imparted to him, turned to Justine and offered her a chair. As she sat down he noted that her remaining guard had changed position and moved closer to their table. He still kept himself between them and the bar. Glancing up he saw that the couple continued to stare at Justine..

"Thank you. I'm sure it _will_ only be a few minutes." She smiled sweetly at Seth and held out a hand. "Justine Palmier."

"Oh, right."Seth stared at her hand for a moment before belatedly extending his own. "Seth Cohen." _How many ways can I screw up in one day?_ To try to cover his discomfort he picked up the menu but then laid it down on the table again.

"You should go ahead and look at the menu, Seth. I've already eaten. I won't be offended if you ignore me."

Hungry as he was, Seth didn't know what he wanted to do. He could look at the menu or try to talk to this pretty girl. He knew where wisdom lay but still... Whatever else could be said for today's excursion to Chino, Seth Cohen had spoken with more beautiful girls and women in one day as a result of meeting Ryan than in the previous sixteen years of his heretofore, wretched and uneventful life.

Seth decided that studying the menu did provide cover for a stealthy recon of his new companion. His first thought when the menu safely hid him was that Justine Palmier could never have had much experience with being ignored by boys. She had soft, strawberry blond hair that just touched her tanned shoulders. As he completed his preliminary survey he noted that her green eyes were focused above his head on something that was going on in one of the second floor boxes. He assumed that she was watching Ryan meet her brother but he couldn't think of a way to check without being incredibly obvious. It figured, however, that she'd be checking out Ryan. He seemed to have that effect on women.

With her attention distracted Seth took the opportunity to study her more directly. Seth approved of the way her black dress hugged her body. Its low neckline exposed breasts that sent another shiver of guilt through him. His devotion to Summer was receiving a real testing today.

The bodice of Justine's dress shimmered with hundreds of black sequins embroidered on it. At her neck she wore only a crucifix set with diamonds. Seth ducked his head hastily back behind the menu when Justine looked down and found him studying her cleavage instead of the menu. He closed the menu with a snap and laid it down with a flourish. "Well, I've decided. Swedish."

This earned him a puzzled look from Justine. "Meatballs?" She inquired with a squint and a tilt of her head that reminded him of Ryan.

"No, pancakes. I'm starting my personal pancake tour of North America tonight here at The Stables. _God, does that sound weird or not_?"

"You mean like in Kerouac?"

"You've read Kerouac?" Seth's face blossomed into a big smile.

"One of my tutors was, I think, a rehabilitated beatnik. He had me read _On the Road_ when I studied modern American Literature. Not all of my tutors were that cool." She rolled her eyes. "Hardly any of them were, in fact"

"You don't go to school?" Seth asked. Listening to his stomach and taking to heart Ryan's clear instructions, he waved their waiter over and placed his order. He really needed to eat something soon or his stomach would soon be serenading the entire restaurant. "Are you sure I can't get you anything. I have my mom's credit card." He cringed internally. _I didn't just say that? Can I just die now? _Seth gave her a weak smile.

Justine ignored his gaff and continued. "Thanks, no; and, actually, I do go to school now. Nicky finally let me dump the tutors and enroll at Our Lady of Victory in September. It's not public school and there aren't any boys." She made a sour face. "But it's a big improvement. I guess Nicky finally realized that he couldn't keep me locked up on the estate forever." She paused and looked thoughtful. "Although I have wondered if OLV's biggest attraction to him wasn't its high walls." Justine laughed. "It's a start for him."

"High walls, guards, what's he afraid of?" Seth looked pointedly at her guard standing only six feet away.

"Nicky says kidnappers but it sometimes seems more that that. I have a guard with me all the time: at school, here in Nicky's own restaurant, and even when I'm at home. It's as though we have enemies or something. They've always been around but I didn't notice it so much when I was little. Now they're pretty obvious. My classmates at school certainly don't seem to mind having them around." She followed his gaze toher guard. "I don't know who needs the protection more though, me or my men. You know what they say about girls who go to convent school." Justine gave Seth an wicked smile that totally flustered him..

"My brother means well and he knows he has to let me get out and see the world. Tonight is part of that. I'm sixteen today and he let me choose what we did for my birthday. I picked the opera. We went to the Performing Arts Center and saw Boito's _Mephistopheles_. It's scarier and the music isn't as pretty as Gounoud's _Faust_ but the character of Mephistopheles is much more interesting and true love still saves Faust in the end."

Seth had to remind himself to close his mouth. _Mom would think she'd died and gone to heaven if I brought Justine home. She'd be making out the guest list for the wedding before we got out the front door._ Seth had to rein in his imagination. "Opera? Don't you like any music, like, from this century?"

"I know it's a weird choice when Nicky owns the biggest clubs in town but I'm a romantic and I know he likes opera. I wanted to spend some time with him; and how do you talk to someone at a rock concert? He enjoys the energy of rock but not an entire evening of it. Maybe I'll get to go to one of his clubs some day with someone." Seth saw her eyes drift up toward the balcony. "That would be fun, I think."

"Home gets lonely with no one but servants and guards around. They're all very good to me; but Uncle Stephan has been in Europe so long and I hardly ever see Nicky since he took over the business, so I thought I'd let him treat me to something on my birthday that we'd both enjoy." Justine touched the crucifix at her throat. "Uncle Stephan sent me this as his present." Her face lost its animation and Seth wondered what he should do if she began to cry.

With a visible effort that pained Seth to watch, she composed herself and changed the subject. "Where do you and Ryan go to school?" Before he could answer, she apologized. "I'm talking way too much, aren't I? I'm sorry"

"Happy birthday," Seth said enthusiastically. "I go to Harbor in Newport." He let it go at that. Ryan's situation, what little he knew of it, was too complicated to go into. If she drew the wrong impression about Ryan, it wouldn't be from something he'd said. "That's okay. I'm a recovering babbler myself." Seth made a show of checking his watch. "My name is Seth and it's been two hours since I last babbled."

Justine smiled. "Hello, Seth," she responded, joining him in the joke.

"I'm in the early stages of a 12-step program for babblers. I'm on Step 3 - making amends to everyone I've ever bored with my babbling."

"How far have you gotten on Step 3?"

"I'm still compiling my list of people that I owe apologies to. I'm up to the sixth grade and have five pages of names."

"And your friend Ryan? Is he a babbler?" She tried to sound casual but Seth heard more interest in her voice than perhaps she intended to show. "Is he in the program too?"

Seth shook his head. "Ryan is the anti-babbler. You're lucky to get six sentences an hour out of him. A least, that's about what he's been averaging tonight. I don't know if this counts as an average night for him or not," Seth said pursing his lips. "I think it might not be; but I haven't known him that long. He does seem to have a high tolerance for meaningless chatter. I'm still alive, after all." He smiled at her and wished, as she returned his smile, that she wasn't so pretty. Well, maybe Ryan would let him hang around after tonight as his sidekick to provide comic relief. It didn't look as though Ryan would have to worry about any competition for girls from him. He got a certain perverse satisfaction out of Justine's obvious interest in Ryan. She's the first person I've met tonight who didn't think Ryan and I were a couple.

Seth didn't want to talk to Justine about Ryan any more. If he couldn't talk about himself, a topic of infinitely greater interest to him, he'd rather know more about this girl. "How come you and your brother have different last names? Different fathers?" Seth asked and watched with a sinking feeling in his still empty stomach as her eyes filled up with tears.

"No. Nicky isn't actually my brother. His father's my guardian." Justine stopped and looked down at her hands. "My parents worked for his father, Stephan Stavros, and when they were killed…" She paused. "When they were killed Stephan became my guardian. I was four then. Nicky and his father are the onlyfamily I have."

Justine pulled a small lace handkerchief from her clutch and played with it as she talked. "It's great to have Nicky here now that he's in charge of the business. But it's a stupid tradition!" Seth jumped as she slammed her fist on the table. She blushed. Seth saw her guard look toward the table, concern visible on his face. "I'm sorry, Seth. It's a family tradition that the heir is never in the same place as the head of the family. Nicky grew up with his mother in Europe. But now that Uncle has gone to Europe, Nicky can be here in California. It's a strange way to live. The present I really wanted this year was to see Uncle Stephan before…" She didn't finish and began to cry softly. With the exquisite timing so common in restaurants and bars the waiter arrived with his order at that moment. Seth sat stricken watching Justine cry.

"I'm sorry, Seth." She smoothed out the handkerchief and then refolded it neatly before putting it away. Justine sniffed loudly and then gave him a shaky smile. "I seem to be saying that a lot to you tonight. I promised myself I wouldn't cry today. Nicholas doesn't show it but it has to be hard for him. Uncle Stephan is his father, after all. I don't want to make things harder for him."

"Uncle Stephan is dying. All the Stavros men have this hereditary heart condition. They never live past 40 and Uncle is 38. That's why he's in Europe and Nicky is in America running the business. There's an entire clinic in Switzerland working on a treatment but Nicky says there's still no cure."

Justine noticed Seth's food sitting in front of him untouched. "Seth, you need to eat it while it's hot or else you and Ryan will have to come back." She gave him a sly look. "It won't count as the a stop on your pancake tour if you don't eat. Then you'd have to come back and see us again." Seth wished he thought it was a desire to see him again that prompted her comment.

"Oh, Ryan's coming now." Justine blushes very prettily, Seth thought. As he started to turn in his chair to face the staircase, he heard several heavy thuds and the sound of dishes being dropped. All conversation in the restaurant stopped as people turned to see what had happened. Seth completed his turn in time to see Christian reach the bottom of the staircase in a rush. Concern was evident on his formerly impassive face even from across the restaurant. He disappeared from Seth's sight as he went down on his knees. Seth felt Justine's hand slip into his own. "What happened to Ryan?"


	10. The Real Chino: Reagent

A.N. The OC and its characters belong to other people and this is a strictly receational use of other people's property

If you find this chapter confusing, you can read it as two separate chapters if you prefer. The bolded sections should be read first up to the division break at the end. That's the last section of the story no matter how you read it.

**VAMPING THE OC**

Part I

**The Real Chino**

REAGENT

_Why are the lights so bright?_

Christian opens the door for Ryan and light from the foyer floods into the alcove where Ryan stands. It rolls over him like some monster wave. In reaction, the headache that developed during his meeting with Mr. Stavros flares into a nova of pain and nausea that stops him in his tracks. Only his grip on the doorframe keeps Ryan from going to his knees.

"Is something wrong?" The woman outside the door asks as she turns toward him. Ryan remembers her as being a petite Asian woman but now she's only a voice originating in a blue-black afterimage in a field of yellow light.

Ryan starts to shake his head but thinks better of it and only mutters, "No. I'm okay." He directs a weak smile in the direction of the blur he assumes is the woman and hopes that it's halfway convincing. He doesn't need or want help or sympathy from anyone. Squinting back over his right shoulder, Ryan finds that his escort has also dissolved into a blur against the red backdrop of the curtains that screen this private box from the curiosity of people passing by outside.

Swallowing several times, Ryan fights to control his nausea. His eyes have adjusted and he can see a little better now. Ryan forces himself to turn back and face into the glare once more. All of the lights in the hallway are surrounded by brilliant orange-black halos that pulse hypnotically. They wax and wane to a rhythm that he finally realizes in his dazed state corresponds to that of the vein throbbing in his temple.

Even through the narrow slits of his eyes, the light sends waves of pain that ricochet around inside his head. He closes his eyes again. As he hesitates in the doorway, he wishes he had his sunglasses; but they're in his backpack down in Seth's SUV. He doesn't care how phony it looks to wear sunglasses at night. He would embrace phony if it gave him relief from this pain.

"Mr. Alwood…?"

He hears the question in Christian's voice and the name he used. Christian was present during Ryan's meeting with Mr. Stavros but he still uses Ryan's alias in public. Ryan's grateful for that. He squints toward the sound and can see Christian now. He doesn't answer the question; instead, he ducks his head as though he's bracing himself to face a storm and not screwing up his courage to step through a simple door. Ryan releases his grip on the door and forces himself to take one step and then another out into the hall. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been gripping the doorframe until the pain in his left hand begins to fade as the pressure on his scar is removed.

Ryan stops as the room begins to rotate slowly around him. He closes his eyes and as he counts slowly to ten the feeling of being on a spinning carousel passes. Regaining his equilibrium, he tries to recall the placement of the furniture he passed on the way here. Somehow he'll have to navigate past it in order to make it back to the staircase. Christian steps up beside him as he stands there attempting to visualize the route he will need to take.

_It wasn't like this earlier._

**When Christian led him up the staircase to the level that had originally been the hayloft of the stable, the foyer had been brightly lit but nothing more. Ryan had always wanted to see it for himself. Because the stables had undergone so many modifications over the years in the transition from horses to motorcars, it didn't quality for any historic designation. This had freed the architects to be more creative here. The biggest and most visible change they had made were the tall multi-pane windows they'd cut through the walls of the loft to let in light to the second floor. The owner had been very insistent about his desire for light.**

**The Stable was, in actuality, nothing more than a 24-hour restaurant that served exemplary food that was far above the coffee shop norm. The foyer created at the top of the stairs and the four private dining rooms that opened off it were more elegantly appointed than the main floor. They were designed with a different clientele in mind. Children's birthday parties and fraternal organizations never held their meetings up there. **

**The room at the top of the stairs stretched the length of the second floor and was almost eighteen feet deep. It was used for receptions and similar functions. The walls of this room were covered in wallpaper the color of butter; and three crystal chandeliers with bulbs shaped like flames to mimic gaslights of the 1890's hung from the ceiling. They glowed with a soft yellow light that made the yellow crystals dangling from them look like pieces of amber suspended in air. They caught and diffused the light around the room. This light was reflected back by large gilt mirrors hung on the inner wall above overstuffed settees covered in cream colored silk. Heavy, antique sideboards that gleamed from hours of polishing held large oriental vases filled with red and yellow tulips; and armchairs upholstered in the same material as the settees flanked them on either side. These groupings stood between the four floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the grounds. Each window, consisting of dozens of small, rectangular panes, also sent reflections back into the room at night. **

**Ryan had watched his reflections and those of Christian in the mirrors and windows as they'd walked the length of the hall. It had been a surreal experience to see so many images of himself all at one time. He'd tried not to gawk; but everything, from the soft, burgundy colored carpeting beneath his feet with its pattern of flowering vines worked in gold thread, to the curtains of the same color that framed the windows, and their sashes of gold rope, had fascinated him.**

Now, every feature that had earlier made the room seem warm and inviting and aglow with light conspires to leave him half blinded and in pain. The vines in the carpet seem to twist and coil beneath his feet like golden serpents that aggravate his nausea with their sinuous movements. The gold cords that hold back the curtains give off flashes like sparks from a welding torch. While the chandeliers, the mirrors along the walls, and the tall windows all combine to make him feel as if he is trapped in some kind of twirling, fractured kaleidoscope of light

The pain throbbing behind his eyes and the nausea roiling his stomach make Ryan wonder if this is a migraine. If it isn't, he can't imagine what they must be like.

All he knows is that he wants to find a dark room where he can hide from the pain and the light until it goes away.

_It's not that far. If I just take it slow, I only need to keep my eyes open enough to make it to the staircase - and not break my neck._

Ryan feels warmth and his skin jumps at the touch on his arm. Christian's hand is on his arm.

"Are you all right?" The note of concern in his voice surprises Ryan.

"Everything's okay. Just give me a minute." Ryan's breathing is rapid. He takes a breath and holds it, silently trying to regain control over some part of his rebellious body. As he slowly releases the breath, he flexes his left hand. The pain along the scar has vanished. He makes a fist and opens it. It's too bad that he isn't a southpaw. He could actually hit someone with that hand tonight and make them feel it.

Of course, to do damage to anyone they will first have to cooperate by standing still because Ryan thinks his head will probably explode if he has to make any sudden moves. They will also have to be totally defenseless because he has no defenses himself. The burning sensation is almost gone from his right hand but the redness is spreading up that arm and along with it has come swelling and tenderness that make it difficult for him to bend his arm or fully close that hand.

Ryan takes a step. Christian doesn't release his grip on his arm but moves along with him. Even when Ryan attempts to pull away from him he maintains his hold. "I'm okay, mother," Ryan says sarcastically.

"Mr. Stavros said I was to see that you got back to your table safely." Christian says this with such a tone of finality that Ryan knows it's useless to argue. The niggling feeling of comfort he feels at these words irritates him.

_I can take care of myself. I've done it all my life._

**His meeting with Stavros started off normally enough, he supposed, if a kid from the streets meeting a rich, powerful man could ever be normal. Ryan had learned since leaving the Youth Facility what this kind of meeting usually meant. He knew what _quid_ the one with the power usually demanded for the _quo_ of survival from the powerless. He hoped that Marie's confidence that Mr. Stavros' reputation on the street of being scrupulously honest was deserved. **

**He stayed alert nevertheless for any sign that this meeting might be straying into areas where he wasn't prepared to go. All of the staff with which Stavros surrounded himself and his sister did not reassure him. Ryan Atwood got it. He wouldn't leave this box unless his host permitted it. He didn't understand why Marie's "honest man" needed so much muscle. **

**Ryan hadn't believed for a minute that his people were anything other than guards. The suggestive bulges he'd noticed beneath the jackets of the men who'd accompanied Justine were clue enough. He wondered where the women carried their weapons. Maybe Seth hadn't recognized them for what they were but Ryan could smell it on them and could feel the anticipation and the nervous energy that seemed to crackle around them. He'd noted that the woman he passed standing outside the door to this private room and the man and woman stationed inside it all had a similar look to them. Like Christian and his partner, who'd stayed downstairs with Justine, all of them were young, athletic in build, and exuded an air of competence and carefully contained menace. What could create so much fear in a man as rich and powerful as this one? **

**Christian pulled aside the red curtain inside the door and announced, "Ryan Alwood, Mr. Stavros." Ryan thought he'd heard a slight hesitation on his last name. If the name had surprised Nicholas Stavros, he hid it well. He rose to greet him as Ryan approached the table where he'd been sitting. The dinner dishes had been cleared from the table and only an open laptop and a single silver goblet remained on the lace tablecloth. The room was dimly lit. Only the light from the candles in a single candelabrum on a side table, the light from the monitor panel of the laptop, and that which came in from the wall open to the main dining room provided illumination.**

"**Ryan, I'm sorry that I gave my sister the wrong name." He laughed pleasantly and then winked. "You see, my reputation for infallibility is exaggerated." **

**Ryan studied the man who stood so unthreateningly before him. He seemed to be about 25, only a few years older than his brother, Trey. Mr. Stavros was dark with short black hair that he wore spiked. He was not tall, only about Ryan's height. Handsome, well groomed and sleek in an expensively tailored tuxedo, he exuded an air of power and self-confidence that struck Ryan as odd. He seemed more like someone who should be at an Ivy League business or law school where his only worry was whether to go with the Wall Street investment firm or the big West Coast bank or deciding if he'd rather practice corporate or international law as he weighed the offers from competing law firms. He was too young to be standing in front of Ryan as though he was king of the world. Still, Ryan had reflected, if the story he'd seen in the _Times_ about the Stavros fortune was close to accurate, that description might not be so very far off the mark.**

**It struck Ryan then how much Stavros resembled the people who guarded him. They didn't look like each other. There were different races represented; their ages varied by perhaps ten or fifteen years; and their features were not similar. And yet, they all had a way of holding themselves - of moving - as though they'd all studied in the same exotic school of martial arts.**

**His host walked forward and offered Ryan his hand. Their handshake was brief, hardly more than a touching of palms. Both released the hold hurriedly. For Ryan the reason was a brief searing pain, like touching his hand to the red-hot burner of a stove. As he'd looked at his hand, he wouldn't have been surprised to see blisters forming. Instead he'd found only an odd, ugly redness on his hand - that and the pain. **

**Mr. Stavros' reaction to their brief contact had been equally powerful. His first response after pulling away had been simply to stare at his hand. It might have belonged to someone else for all the amazement and confusion that showed on his face. He rubbed at his right palm with the thumb of his left hand as though trying to remove some stain or irritant and continued to do this with increasing agitation and force.**

"**I've heard of people having chemistry but this is ridiculous," he said not looking up. He took a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tuxedo and continued to rub the palm of his right hand with it. He frowned when he looked up and saw Ryan watching him. With obvious reluctance, Stavros replaced the handkerchief in his pocket; but throughout their meeting Ryan noticed that whenever he became distracted he rubbed his right hand against his pants leg.**

**The comment about chemistry had been lame and must have sounded as feeble to him as it did to Ryan. It hadn't in any way explained the strange thing that had happened to the two of them. The thought came to Ryan that Seth could have adlibbed a better line than that. **

_You don't have to be able to see to get down a goddamn flight of stairs. Blind people do it all the time. I can keep my eyes closed most of the way. My good hand on the railing, a strong grip, slow and deliberate, not too fast. Just a blink to judge my progress. I can do this._

**With a shake of his head Stavros seemed to regain his composure. He smiled and gestured Ryan to the chair across from him at the table. "Can I order you something from the kitchen? I interrupted your dinner plans." The older man glanced toward the railing that bordered the room and overlooked the dining room below. His thoughts, Ryan guessed, were on the table where Seth and Justine sat. His smile grew thinner. "I hate to interrupt a man when he's working."**

"**Thanks, no." Ryan blinked and rubbed absentmindedly at his forehead. His head had begun to ache as though all his sinuses had closed shut. "Maybe some water."**

"**Certainly. Christian, pour Ryan a glass of water." Without taking his eyes off him, Mr. Stavros leaned back in his chair and rested his arms on the arms of the chair. Ryan noted that he didn't actually rest the palm of his right hand on the chair's armrest. He kept that hand turned so that nothing pressed against it.**

**Ryan took the glass of ice water that Christian handed him with his left hand. After thanking him and taking a drink, Ryan set it down in front of him. He pulled his chair forward slightly so he could rest his right arm on the table. His right hand curled around the sweaty coolness of the glass. **

"**I've only known your employer for a short time but my father has known Ms. Jackson for many years and they've had an understanding for all that time," he said with no preamble. "I thought that everyone who worked for her understood the details of that agreement. You make me wonder if that's true." He paused and studied Ryan. **

**The pressure and pain in Ryan's temple grew worse. It was spreading out now from the regions of his sinuses. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Stavros."**

"**Call me Nick, Ryan, everyone does," He said lightly. "Mr. Stavros is my father." His attempt to lighten the mood got him only a cool stare from Ryan. His expression turned serious again. "To be plain, Ryan. Our understanding has been that none of her employees will solicit business within, bring any of their clients into, or create any kind of disturbances in any of my establishments. That's simple enough, isn't it?" He seemed to expect an answer but when Ryan remained silent he continued.**

"**I'm not interested in people's private affairs. How they choose to conduct their lives is between them and their consciences. However, once they've chosen to enter one of my properties that changes. Then their business becomes my business. People do not bring their illegal activities across the thresholds of my properties. I will not become involved with the authorities because of someone else's activities." **

**Ryan saw the look he sent toward the dining room below. It didn't require Ryan to have any mind reading abilities to know what Nick had assumed about Seth and their visit or what he'd thought of the scene with Taylor.**

**Ryan flushed and his gaze also drifted to the balcony before coming back to meet Nick's. "Nothing's happening that would concern you. Seth wanted to know where to eat and I thought of this place. As for Taylor, that won't ever happen again." Ryan stopped and rubbed at his temple with his left hand as the pain intensified.**

"Damn." The word explodes out of Ryan. He'd wrenched himself free from Christian's grasp and taken several steps away from him in the direction of the stairs when he walked into one of the heavy, oak sideboards. His eyes open in surprise and pain; and he manages to grab, just barely, the vase of tulips sitting on it and to steady it before his brutalized eyes squeeze shut. The brightness of the light in the room sends his headache off the pain scale. He stands, eyes pressed tightly together, trying to catch his breath and comforts himself with the thought that he hasn't added to his humiliation by destroying an antique that is probably worth more than he'll earn in his lifetime. Ryan feels the presence of his shadow behind him.

Ryan bends forward, his left hand on his knee, his right hand held out to the side as though fending off Christian's concern. The air is thick with Christian's disapproval; but he allows Ryan his space and makes no effort to approach him.

"I…" Ryan starts and then hesitates, unsure what to say. Saying he has a headache, or a migraine, sounds so weak to him. Ryan's lived his life trying never to show weakness. It's how he endured the succession of male friends and their casual violence that Dawn brought home with her and how he survived the gangs and predators in the Youth Facility. He continues, "I'm having trouble with my eyes." That explanation, he thinks, at least has the benefit of not being a total lie. "I don't know what it is but the light is too bright. I can't see very well."

"What can I do?"

"I only need to get to my table. Seth will take care of me." Ryan mentally cringes at this choice of words. Christian heard him deny to Stavros there was anything between Seth and him and now he says such a stupid thing. No one has needed to take care of him since Trey left.

_Why am I saying this about a guy I just met? He must just want to get out of here and go home. He can't want to get more involved with my troubles._

Ryan is glad that he can't see Christian's expression. He's not sure why he's so positive in his mind that if he can only get to Seth things will be alright; but there's not a doubt in his mind that it's true.

"**Why should I believe you, Ryan Atwood?" The icy tone in his voice caused Ryan to glance up before ducking his head again.**

"**I'm not a liar." Ryan mumbled into his chest.**

"**Truth is a very malleable thing, Ryan. Erase one pen stroke and what was once true alters and a new 'truth' is born. The letter 't' morphs into an 'l' and Ryan Atwood dies - Ryan Alwood is born. Tell me why I should believe you about anything if you're not willing to be honest about your own name?" **

"**Ryan Atwood needed to disappear."**

**Stavros held out his goblet to Christian who was waiting nearby. He took a sip from it when it had been refilled and considered the sandy haired boy sitting across from him. "Why? I know about the stolen car. Look at me, young man!" His command shook the room. "I'm tired of looking at the top of your head. If you want to convince me of your sincerity, I need to see your eyes."**

**Ryan's head snapped up but there was defiance in his blue eyes. "I didn't serve all my sentence. I ran away."**

"**You ran away from the Youth Facility?" Stavros seemed surprised by this news.**

"**No. I did my time there." A look of bitterness crossed Ryan's face. He looked away and then forced himself to turn back and meet his interrogator's eyes. "I ran away from the halfway house that the court sent me to… the Crawford House." Ryan watched to see if the name meant anything to Stavros. The slight widening of his listener's eyes confirmed that he did recognize the name. Ryan tried but couldn't maintain eye contact.**

**A long pause followed Ryan's confession. Mr. Stavros seemed to consider the boy's words. His look was sharp, calculating and his lips were pressed together into a thin line when he asked, "How long were you there?"**

"**Three days." The answer came out half strangled as the pain in Ryan's head spiked again. "It took me a day to figure out what was up; another day to come up with a plan; and I skipped out of there on the third day." Tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes.**

**Nick Stavros sighed. "You could have turned yourself in after…" He made a vague gesture that encompassed all the things he left unsaid, "the news came out."**

"**Yeah, sure." Ryan snorted. "But I was still a runaway. I'd still violated the terms of my release. I didn't want to go back in hope that some judge might cut me some slack because of…things. There wasn't any way I was going back to the Youth Facility." Ryan forgot himself and shook his head. His wince and sudden intake of breath had to have been obvious to everyone in the room. "There was no way I was going back. No way!" **

**Ryan suddenly stretched out his left arm and slowly rotated it so that the palm of his hand was visible. He held it out for Stavros to see. A dark purple scar zigzagged from thumb to little finger. It stood out, even in the dim light in the room, against the paleness of his skin. Ryan considered it for a moment before looking up at Nick with an ironic smile. **

"**Some guys come out of jail with tattoos. This is my souvenir of the California juvenile system." "Ryan closed his fingers and made a fist. "I do exercises every day to keep it limber." **

Ryan watches warily as Christian reaches into the inside breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket. He steps forward and holds out to Ryan a pair of silver rimmed aviator sunglasses.

"These will take care of the glare" He looks around thoughtfully. "They can handle the sun at noon in Death Valley." He grimaces. "Not a nice place to visit. I don't plan to do that again in this lifetime."

Ryan makes no move to take the glasses offered to him. Christian frowns, reaches out, and takes Ryan by the wrist. He places the glasses in Ryan's left hand and closes his fingers tightly around them. The strange warmth is still there in Christian's touch. Ryan wonders at it and considers its oddness worth his consideration if there's ever any letup in the pain that he's experiencing.

"Go on, take them. I've got another pair. I never leave the compound without an extra pair."

Ryan slips the glasses on and breathes out a long sigh as the world around him falls into deep shadow. He turns his head slowly, tentatively, surveying the room and even risks a look at the chandelier overhead. Its light is nothing more than a faded ember compared to the solar flare of its light before. The pain level in his head ratchets down to merely hideous from excruciating.

"Did that help? Can you see well enough to make it on your own?" Christian asks. He hasn't moved and remains standing closer than Ryan would normally allow. He permits this intrusion into his space.

"The pain's less but the lenses are so dark that I can hardly see. If I strain too hard to make out objects in front of me, my eyes feel like they're being torn out of their sockets." Ryan lets out another sigh. This time, however, the cause is frustration, not relief.

Ryan stands there mentally surveying his options, trying to formulate a plan for getting back downstairs that doesn't involve asking Christian for assistance. Finally, resigning himself to the inevitable, he strong arms his pride aside and admits defeat. "No, it's not enough. I need help." Ryan gnaws on his lip as he waits for a response.

Christian's answer is friendly and concerned. There's no hint of the condescension that Ryan expected to hear. "Sure. What do you need me to do?"

"Walk beside me. I need you to talk me down the hall to the staircase and then, the hard part, down them. If I seem likely to walk into anyone or anything, you rescue me."

Ryan watches him out of the corner of his eye and laughs at himself for doing it. No one can see his eyes behind these glasses but the old instinct to avoid eye contact is too strong.

**Nick Stavros said nothing and as the silence lengthened Ryan realized that he was once again looking at the floor. When his head came up he found to his relief that Stavros was staring off into space, preoccupied with his own thoughts. This suited Ryan perfectly. He'd talked more than he wanted to about things he'd just as soon not have to remember. The movement of Stavros' right hand caught his eye. He was rubbing it absently back and forth on his pant leg. **

**When Nick spoke again his voice was less confident - softer. "What do you want, Ryan Atwood"**

"**What?" Ryan asked confused.**

"**What are your goals? Everyone needs to have goals." **

"**To be 17." The sarcasm was thick in Ryan's voice.**

**Stavros looked startled and then threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Ryan, I'd like that myself." His laughter sounded genuine; but Ryan looked around the room suspiciously convinced that he was the butt of some inside joke that he didn't get. He relaxed when he noticed that Christian was also smiling. There seemed to be nothing malicious in his attitude.**

"**Seriously, you have no dreams? You seem like an intelligent young man. Staying out of jail is not a _bad_ goal for a kid from Chino. But, doesn't Ryan Atwood want anything more than that?"**

"**I wouldn't give up your day job, Nick." Ryan answered with a sneer. "If you're auditioning for a job as a school counselor, I've heard all this from professionals. Study hard, get good grades, and with your SATs you could get into a junior college." Ryan said in a bored, indifferent voice that echoed his last counselor from Chino Hills. "You see, even she didn't want me to set my sights too high." **

"**Having dreams where I come from just gets your ass kicked. Either people believe that you think you're better than they are and decide to knock that idea out of your head; or you try to go for the dream and the reality of who you are and where you're from beats you down. It's all the same. You're still stuck in Chino with only a sore butt to show for having had a dream. Having a dream is a chump's game!"**

**Ryan realized as he finished speaking that his listener had changed. He'd lost the look of a successful twentysomething. The man who sat across from him looked tired – older. His face was drawn and haggard. **

**_He looks_ _old enough to be my father_. **

"**Ryan, you're a puzzle and I don't give up on puzzles. I work at then until I solve them." He studied Ryan seriously. "Where were you born?" He asked.**

"**What? What's that to you? I'm out of here." Ryan started to stand but Stavros held up a hand and he settled stiffly back into his chair. His eyes darted around the room checking out the three guards. Suspicion radiated from him. **

"**I'm not asking you anything I couldn't find out in other ways, Ryan. As I said, I'm curious about you."**

"**I was born in Fresno. Mom moved us down here a couple of years ago."**

"**You and your brother?"**

"**Yeah, me and Trey."**

"**And your brother is…?"**

"**In Chino State doing one to three for that car theft you say you know all about. He and I haven't been in touch." Ryan shrugged expressively. "Wouldn't be such a good idea for me to visit him."**

**Stavros smiled. He looked past Ryan and motioned with his hand to one of the guards by the door. It was the woman who responded to his summons. She crossed the room silently with only the soft swish of the black silk of her pants to mark her progress. Settling herself gracefully in a chair at the table, she took the laptop that Stavros passed to her and brought it out of standby mode. She looked up when she was ready and at his nod her manicured fingers flew over the keyboard. In a matter of moments she'd finished and now waited patiently for the questions to begin again. Ryan blinked at the efficiency of it all and wondered why he rated a file on the personal laptop of Nicholas Stavros.**

"**Your parents, where are they from, Ryan?" As he asked this Stavros stared at him with such intensity that Ryan felt a moment of kinship with every small animal that had ever looked into the eyes of a snake and wondered what to do next.**

**He hesitated while he tried to collect his thoughts. All the time pain pulsed through his head in regular, nausea inducing waves. "Mom's from the Midwest someplace. I don't think she ever said where exactly." He closed his eyes briefly. "Her words were 'It's the pig shit capital of the world'."**

"**Does she have any brothers or sisters?" **

"**I don't think so. But she didn't like to talk about home."**

"**And your father. What about him?" Nick leaned toward Ryan as he asked this.**

"**Somewhere back East, I think. Pennsylvania – West Virginia, maybe. I think the men in his family were miners. Dad never did that though." Ryan smiled sourly. "According to mom, he wasn't into the hard work." Ryan paused while trying to remember details of life before his father went to prison. "Dawn always called him a lazy bum; but I remember him going to work when I was little. He left before Trey and I got up for school and didn't come home until after we'd had our dinner. Maybe he was a 'lazy bum.' She should know. Most of her boyfriends have been." **

"Wait here." Christian's voice comes from Ryan's right. Ryan stops and spotting the railing for the staircase grabs hold of it. Only the first step down is clearly visible to him. Beyond that there is a dark, shadowy void.

"What?" The walk down the hall has been uneventful and blessedly collisions free. Ryan hasn't added any new bruises to the ones he acquired during his run in with the sideboard.

"There may be an alternative to taking the stairs. Wait here while I check. You'll be okay?"

Ryan's chin comes up and he bristles at the suggestion that he can't take care of himself. His anger quickly evaporates in the face of the pain his sudden movement causes. His stomach tries to tie itself into a knot; and he swallows reflexively in an effort to generate some saliva. "Sure," he says dryly. "I'll try not to fall down the stairs and embarrass you or your boss."

The surliness he hears in his own voice embarrasses Ryan. Christian doesn't deserve it but he finds it comes so much easier to him than gratitude. Ryan Atwood hasn't had much practice in saying thank you or had many reasons to be grateful to anyone since he lost control of his life in August. Until tonight there have been only two people he owed a debt too: the kid who found him that first long night on his own and offered him a place to crash; and Marie Jackson who gave him a job. He reaches up and fingers the glasses that Christian forced on him.

"I'm sorry." Christian's approach is noiseless and his voice from behind Ryan startles him. "There is an elevator but it's been out of order for a while and it's still down."

"I guess I'll just have to turn you in then." Ryan says severely before allowing a small smile to show. Even wearing dark glasses that hide his eyes from Christian's gaze, he still instinctively dips his head. The habits of a lifetime are hard to break. "The ADA police will want to know about this violation."

Christian mistakes Ryan's attempt at humor and replies seriously to him. "Mr. Stavros would be seriously pissed if you did that. He hates any sort of involvement with the authorities. He will do anything to avoid them."

"It was only a joke, Christian." Ryan wonders at the relief that shows in Christian's face at these words.

"**Sir, something's wrong with the boy! You should stop." A young man's voice cut through the fog. Ryan wondered why anyone here would care.**

**A woman in a heavily accented voice rebuked him for his concern. "Such impudence. Boy, you're a fool. The Seigneur has done nothing to the child." **

"**Enough!" He recognized the voice of Nick Stavros as it sliced through the argument. The voice sounded strained and frustrated but Ryan had no doubt about its owner. "The boy's right, Gisla. Something isn't right. Ryan." Then more loudly he said, "Ryan!"**

**Ryan tried to fight his way back through the pain-induced fog that had enveloped him. He opened his eyes but they rebelled as he tried to focus on the speaker. The flickering candle flames sent stabs of pain into his head. He closed them again and suddenly the nature of the pain he was experiencing changed. His head still ached and the nausea still stalked him but the band of pain that encircled his head stopped tightening. Even when Stavros addressed him directly there was no corresponding echo in the pain he experienced. **

"**Young man, I think you are not well. One of my men will see you back to your table." Warily, Ryan watched as Stavros motioned his previous escort over to him. "Christian, see that Ryan gets back to his table safely." Stavros stood. Ryan got to his feet more slowly. He directed a poisonous look, one that promised that serious violence would be inflicted on anyone who thought they had the balls to offer him help up, at Christian. Christian merely stood where he was, his face showing only a bland look of indifference as he watched Ryan struggle out of his seat. Ryan stood by his chair breathing hard as though he'd just performed some arduous task. **

"**Ryan, I believe I was mistaken about you. I am sorry for that and that's an admission that I've not had to make in a long time." Stavros looked thoughtful as he studied the young man standing in front of him. " I believe that in some way that is unclear to me I owe you a debt. Nick Stavros always honors his obligations. If you should ever need help, I will give you such assistance as I can." With that Stavros nodded to Ryan's escort to take him away, He turned back to the table and resumed his seat. Ryan Atwood was dismissed.**

Christian turns from his consideration of the problem represented by the staircase to a consideration of the boy standing beside him. "So…?" He queries.

"Yeah," Is Ryan's not very helpful contribution. His gaze remains fixed on the staircase.

"You have a plan?" Christian waits, allowing Ryan time to put forward any ideas he has for negotiating the stairs. Finally, he volunteers some ideas into Ryan's continuing silence.

"We could go down single file. I can lead or bring up the rear, whichever you want. If you lost your balance I'd be there."

"I can do this myself. If I ditch the dark glasses, I can see well enough to get down some stairs without being treated like a baby. Gravity is on my side." There's an ironic smile on Ryan's face.

Christian ignores Ryan's interjection and proceeds to finish his list of suggestions in a tone that reveals his exasperation with Ryan. "Or, I can walk beside you; or, I can walk on the opposite side of the staircase and we can pretend we're not together. However you want to do it, I'm going to see you get down these stairs safely. And, don't take those glasses off!" Ryan's hand pauses in the act of removing them.

"We're not together." Ryan reminds him dryly but he leaves the glasses on. He looks up into Christian's eyes and relishes the ability to do this without the other person being able to see his own eyes. With the glasses, Christian's dark blue eyes have become black orbs that stare back at him levelly. "Christian, you're here because your boss ordered you to be."

"Chris."

"What?" Ryan responds cocking his head and trying to read the other man's expression.

"Call me Chris, I said. My friends do." Chris runs his hand through the tight blond curls that cover his head and studies, with seeming fascination, the pattern of vines woven into the carpeting.

"You heard everything I told Mr. Stavros," Ryan says quietly.

"Yeah."

"It's all true."

"I assumed so. People don't lie to Mr. Stavros."

"Beside me then, I guess." Ryan shakes his head and relishes the fact that his head doesn't fall off from doing so. "Walk beside me; but if I take you down with me, Chris, it's your own damn fault." Ryan takes a secure hold on the railing and steps off into space.

"You see, no problem." Ryan boasts as he reaches the landing midway down the staircase without incident. "I don't needbig brother hovering over my shoulder." Ryan looks out across the restaurant in hope of being able to see some detail now that he's closer to the main level, to see Seth at their table, but the darkness of the glasses still won't allow that.

The pain in his head is better since Christian gave him the glasses. The constant, unrelenting pain has left him exhausted but there are none of the awful spikes in pain that punctuated his headache before. Thinking ahead Ryan tries to maintain a positive attitude. At least it's a weeknight; the motel should be fairly quiet this time of night. Climbing into his bed and pulling the covers over his head sounds so good to him.

But the thought of his room brings up the question of how he'll get there. There's no way he can ride his bike home. He will not allow Seth to give him a ride. _No, I'll take a cab. I've got cash_. _I don't want Seth to know where I live._ Ryan has a feeling of relief now that he's solved that problem. He wonders if Seth will give him any trouble about his decision.

Ryan steps off the landing. Lilies, he smells lilies. The sweet fragrance of flowers surrounds him. Now he can identify the familiar scent; it's the exotic odor of Stargazer lilies, his mother's favorite. That's the flower that the construction worker always brought Dawn last summer. Stargazer lilies, they had filled the house in Chino with their scent that summer and covered everything with their pollen when Dawn forgot (which she always did) to remove the stamens. He smiles. It had been a good summer until Dawn's self-destructive nature ruined it. The guy had met her just out of rehab and even for someone as good as this man she couldn't stay dry. The real Dawn Atwood had sent him running for Texas.

He takes several more slow, careful steps down the stairs wondering at the oddness of this. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the odor of flowers is gone and a wave of fear coils around him. Fear comes for Ryan in the form of the cool, dry, raspy feel of scales sliding across his soul. Like a serpent casting about anxiously for the scent of prey it knows is near, it brushes past his mind. He stops abruptly and Chris collides with him. Ryan is turning toward Christian with an apology when he sees Chris stagger. Somehow Ryan catches and holds onto Christian's wrist with the right hand he can hardly feel. His left hand screams in pain at the sudden strain of having to support the weight of two men as Ryan struggles to keep his grip on the railing.

**_Darkness: H_e** **exists in a lightless space. So black and devoid of light that he wonders if he's gone blind. He turns his head slowly from left to right searching for some speck of light. **

**_Silence: O_nly the sounds of his own rapid breathing disturb the stillness. Shouts produce only mocking echoes that magnify his fear. Willing himself to relax, he tries to take slow, even breaths. **

**_Cold:_ Could he see his breath if there were lights? He thinks so. **

**_Naked: S_hivering, his body tries to warm itself in response to the coldness of this place. It's not the dry cold of central air but the damp cold of a chamber deep underground. The soft surface beneath him, with its silky covering, suggests a bed but retains none of his body's warmth. **

**_Bound:_ He's caught, held tight at wrists and ankles by soft restraints that leave him spread-eagled, exposed, vulnerable. He tests their strength, fighting against them until he slumps back exhausted. The sweat drying on his bare skin adds to his chill. Maybe there was a little give at his left wrist.**

**_Sound_: Nails dragging across silk, the whisper slips into his consciousness. His head twists wildly from side-to-side trying to locate its source. **

**_Fear_: His stomach knots as his body dips. Someone has joined him. As they make their way in from the edge toward him at the center, his body moves and sways. The movement stops. Over the pounding of his heart, he can hear the sound of the other's breathing.**

_Pain: S_earing pain shoots through his head and drives out every other thought. He gasps at its unexpectedness. Then he's teetering on a staircase; the fear of falling is foremost in his thoughts. He grips the railing with his left hand despite the agony that shoots through it and clamps his other hand tightly around the wrist of the person beside him who's wobbling on the edge. Warmth. Heat, Fire! His right hand is on fire but he won't turn loose, won't let his companion fall.

**_Confusion: _This didn't happen before. Before?**

**Someone is bending over him. He hears the sound of metal on leather. A hand comes down on his left shoulder and pushes him roughly into the bed. Something icy cold touches and pricks the base of his throat. His body tries to sink into the bed, to shrink away from the cold point of the blade. In one smooth stroke the knife slices him neatly from throat to navel. Screaming, he flinches away from the sharp, burning pain that splits him down the center. He licks the coppery taste of his own blood from his lips and takes a jerky breath. Blood seeps from the shallow cut. **

**Long-nailed hands press down on his chest, a hand on each breast; and the odor of lilies sweeps over him in an intoxicating cloud. The hot breath of the one leaning over him burns on his cut. Unresisting to this invasion, his body refuses to obey him and lies passive. Now his tormentor's breathing is rapid, impatient. Wet lips press themselves to his wound. **

**A series of slow, lingering kisses burn their way down his chest, tracing the blade's path. The greedy tongue tastes him and savors every drop of the lifeblood oozing from him. Wherever it passes, fire spreads out from the wound.**

**Blood has collected in his navel and the questing tongue goes after it greedily. A hand rests lightly now on his stomach. The fingers play with the blond hairs that mark his manhood. They tense and the nails dig into his groin. When the hungry mouth finally pulls away from his stomach, the whole length of the cut is inflamed. It burns as though some caustic agent has been poured into the wound and is working its way out into his bloodstream.**

**His body rocks gently as his captor changes position. He hears the sound of the knife being pulled from its sheath again and his body tenses. A hand takes hold of his left wrist and turns it palm up.**

"**What is it, Marcus?" A woman's voice, his tormentor's voice, asks in irritation. The grip on his wrist relaxes slightly.**

"**Lady," a smooth male voice answers. "I knew you'd want to know when it was _done_." **

"**It's done? You're sure? You know this for a fact?" There's excitement in the woman's voice. She releases his wrist.**

"**Of course, Lady. I saw to it personally." There's a note of smug satisfaction in the man's voice.**

"**How long ago?" **

"**No more than two hours."**

"**We'll…." She begins but the man anticipates her.**

"**The teams are ready. They await only you're order and all the little lambs will be rounded up." **

"**How many?" **

"**Twenty here in the city. Those out of the city will be lost to us, of course. Still…"**

"**Indeed. A goodly number. The House is ready for them?"**

"**Everything is prepared, Lady. All I need is your word." **

"**You have it! See to it, Marcus." The bed moves as she turns back to her captive. "Well…?" There's impatience in her voice as she hesitates.**

"**Will you keep him?"**

"**No." The woman's voice sounds regretful. "He's flawed."**

"**A flaw? Really? He's such a beautiful boy. All those pale blond curls and those dark blue eyes."**

"**He has a flaw." Her voice has grown petulant like a spoiled child. "See, a birthmark on his thigh." Her fingers trail over his stomach until they reach the small mark on his inner thigh. "Besides, I have enough blondes now anyway. You've told me so yourself."**

"**Of course. You're right. He's quite unworthy of you, mistress." There's a note of sarcasm and amusement in the man's voice.**

"**Marcus, your voyeurism grows tiresome. You have your orders. See that they're carried out!" She snaps. Cold steel has replaced her friendly, bantering tone. **

"**Lady." He replies stiffly.**

"**Marcus…" Her voice softens. "Well done. I won't finish this one. I'll leave him for you. I know how you like your pretty boys and I need to pace myself. Twenty! I'll have lots to do in the next few days. Now, take your greedy eyes out of here and let me finish."**

**_Patience_: The distraction gives him time. His body is his own once again and he gathers his strength. He'll put all his effort into freeing his left arm. There was, he thinks, some give in the restraint holding that wrist when he tested it. The "pretty boy" will give her a surprise to remember him by. He waits. It has to be done before she turns her attention back to his wrist.**

**A finger unexpectedly touches him on his left arm and trails down its length skimming just above the hairs sending a shock through his body. He steadies himself. Her finger traces idly across the palm of his hand as though she's reading his palm. Finally, she grasps his wrist in her hand and begins to tighten her grip again. He puts all his strength into freeing his left arm, breaking her grip on him. **

His grip on the railing is snapped by the terrific yank that Christian gives Ryan's right hand. As Ryan loses his balance, Christian shakes himself free of the restraining hand and shoves him violently away. Ryan bounces off the railing. Christian's handsome face is contorted into a mask of fear and pain and his eyes are unfocused as he falls back onto the stairs. In the split second before Ryan begins to tumble down the stairs, reason returns to Chris's eyes. Christian makes a lunge for Ryan's flailing arm, misses, and watches the boy, he was supposed to keep safe, fall away from him to the floor below.


	11. The Real Chino: The Roach Motel, pt 1

AN – This isn't the chapter I intended to have posted by the end of June. It's only a fragment of it and a fairly small one, I think. But RL in the form of company and my decision to participate in the OC Sentence Challenge kept me distracted for most of the month. This does form a coherent piece and does move the story along, if only incrementally. (My faithful reader said I should go with it.)

I'll try to get the rest up as soon as possible. Would you prefer to have the rest of this chapter posted as scenes are finished or wait for the whole piece? I'd be interested to hear from anyone with an opinion.

VAMPING THE OC

Part 1

The Real Chino

The Roach Motel, part 1

"Let me through! I know him." Just as The Nana had shown him on his last visit to New York, Seth used his elbows to clear a path through the crowd of curious patrons who'd gathered around Ryan. He wasn't on a hunt for bargains at Macy's in the after Thanksgiving Day Sale now. This time it was something important. "He's my friend."

"Ryan, are you okay?" Seth dropped down to one knee beside Ryan and shook his shoulder gently.

"How is he?" Justine asked. She stood behind Seth watching as he tried to locate Ryan's pulse in his neck. Seth tried to remember how they did it on _ER ._ If only he hadn't abandoned it for_CSI , _which was like a totally useless source of helpful information in a situation like this. Everyone they dealt with on that show was already dead.

_i Ryan can't be dead /i . _He knew that Ryan couldn't be dead.

"What you're looking for, the carotid artery, is a quarter inch to your left" An amused voice said from behind him. Just as Seth found the pulse point, Ryan groaned.

A noise distracted Seth momentarily from his concern for Ryan. Looking up he saw the guard Justine had referred to as Christian stumble down the stairs. He caught himself at the bottom and stood swaying there, his eyes wild. He clung to the railing with a death grip that left his knuckles white. As the confusion faded from his face and he took in the scene before him, the color drained from his face.

Seth turned back as Ryan groaned again and stuck his hand into Ryan's face. "How many fingers am I holding up, Ryan?" He began to wave excitedly in front of Ryan.

From behind him a hand came down and locked Seth's arm in a powerful hold. "He might be able to answer you, boy, if you didn't keep changing the number of fingers you held in front of him," a man's deep voice suggested impatiently. Seth rubbed his forearm, trying to restore feeling to it after his arm was freed. Looking up he saw Justine's other guard watching him with a look of disgust on his face.

"Right, of course." Seth held up two fingers a few inches away from Ryan's face. "How many fingers now, Ryan?" When Ryan didn't respond immediately, Seth reached for his sunglasses. "Cool shades, dude. Where'd you get them? I've been looking for…" He felt the toe of Justine's slipper prod him sharply in the leg. "You probably can't even see my fingers through them. I'll just hold them for you."

Seth's hand was suddenly yanked away from the glasses. "Leave the glasses alone!" Seth's hand was pulled upand found himself dangling, his toes just touching the floor, in the grip of Justine's other guard, Christian. Christian's gaze was fixed on Ryan and he seemed oblivious to Seth's struggles to free himself. His hand had begun to lose feeling when Christian ordered, "Ask him again!" There was desperation in his voice.

"Right," Seth whined, "but can I have my hand back first? That is if you're not planning on taking it as a trophy? 'Cause I'm really kind of attached to it right now."

"Christian!" Two voices spoke in unison. One voice belonged to Justine. The other voice, a man's deeper voice, snapped with the force of someone used to instant obedience. Seth fell back to the floor. For the second time Seth had to rub a body part to restore circulation. He wondered to himself what was up with the bodyguards and the casualness with which they inflicted pain on Seth Cohen tonight.

As Seth returned his attention to Ryan, he saw that the crowd of diners that had surrounded them had returned to their tables. Now only Justine and her two guards remained with him beside Ryan. "Does the boy need an ambulance?" Jason asked impatiently. Seth directed a blistering look at him that would have done justice to Cyclops.

"No. The 'boy' doesn't need an ambulance." Seth's attention snapped back to Ryan at these soft words. Ryan's head was up off the floor and he was attempting to lever himself into an upright position.

"Hey man. Take it easy." Seth put his hand on Ryan's chest and shoved him down. "Stay where you are. You might have broken bones, a concussion, or something. You weren't saying anything there for a while to my questions. Admittedly this is not an unusual state of affairs, I mean people not answering me, but dude you seemed totally out of it. If you lost consciousness or blacked out that might mean you have a concussion. We should take you to a hospital. Get you x-rays, and MRI's, and CAT scans, all that stuff."

"No hospital, Seth. I…I can't afford a hospital. I'm fine! " Ryan said emphatically as he tried to sit up again. His body would not cooperate in the performance of this simple maneuver, however. Each time he tried to lever himself up his hands would not support his weight and he slumped back to the floor. Ryan finally settled for supporting himself on his elbows. He slowly surveyed the faces of the people gathered around him.

"Ryan, you should go to a hospital just to be sure." Justine tried to kneel beside Ryan but found that the designer of her evening dress had never considered that a maneuver such as squatting down might ever be called for by anyone who wore it. All she could do was bend over him. "We're insured for accidents. That's right, isn't it, Jason?" She looked questioningly toward the older guard who, after a pause, slowly nodded in agreement. "Don't worry about the cost. The restaurant will be responsible for the hospital bills." Seth heard a strangled sound from Jason but a look from Justine kept any comments he would have made unspoken. "You should let someone check you over."

With Ryan's eyes hidden behind the dark glasses, Seth couldn't check them for clues to his feelings but the stubborn set of his jaw was clear enough - Ryan was not going to take her advice. He watched curiously the way Ryan's face turned away from Justine's and tracked Christian's movements as he walked around to his other side and knelt down beside him. Seth couldn't decide what the strange vibe was that passed between the two men.

Before Ryan could reply, Christian looked up at the young woman and answered for him, "Miss Justine, that decision is the boy's. If he doesn't want to go, you should accept that." After he said this Christian gave Seth an appraising look and reached into the pockets of his tuxedo coat and pulled out a pair of thin, black leather driving gloves. Seth watched him as he got to his feet and slipped them on.

The look of relief Ryan gaveChristian persuaded Seth. He didn't get _why _Ryan didn't want to go to a hospital but he definitely got the message. "He's right, Justine. I'm sure everything will be fine." He turned to Ryan for corroboration and reassurance. "You're okay, Ryan, right?"

Ryan nodded. "Everything's fine, Seth."

A gloved hand reached out to offer Ryan help up. Ryan stared at the hand and its glove without making any move to take it. Ryan's forehead wrinkled in indecision, as he considered the hand.

Seth, for his part, blinked at the two-inch wide black leather watchband that was visible on Christian's left wrist as his coat and shirt sleeve slid up on his arm. The incongruity of this band with the Versace tuxedo and the gold glinting at him from the cuff of his white silk shirtpuzzled Seth.

Seeing Ryan's hesitation, Seth stood up and held out his own hand to him. Ryan grasped Seth's hand. That Ryan would prefer Seth's help both surprised and pleased him. Seth pulled but it still took Christian's help, who gripped Ryan under the arm and lifted, to get him onto his feet. Seth felt Ryan flinch away initially when Christian touched him but the reaction was only momentary. Together the two men got Ryan up where he stood leaning weakly on Seth's arm.

Seth took the opportunity to whisper sarcastically in Ryan's ear, "Gee, man, I'm glad you're so okay. Otherwise we'd have needed a block and tackle to get you up and a wheelbarrow to get you to the car."

The weak smile this earned him from an obviously struggling Ryan caused Seth to smile in a totally foolish and inexplicable fashion. His smile vanished as Justine's concern registered and he took in the look of suspicion on Jason's face.

"He'll be fine as soon as I get him into bed." This earned Seth a painful squeeze from the hand that Ryan held on to him with. He guessed from the way Ryan's head came up that it also earned him a sharp look from behind the dark glasses that still coveredRyan's eyes. "Not that I'm going to like undress him or help him into bed or anything because that would be totally weird and really minty," He said looking at Justine. "I'm just the taxi service. The public conveyance thing is totally within my level of expertise." Ryan's boot came down on the insole of his foot and Seth let out a little gasp of pain.

Jason gazed thoughtfully at the two boys and then addressed Christian. "Make yourself useful, boy. Bring their car up to the front door." Seth didn't argue. Ryan needed increasingly more support from him just to stay on his feet. Seth dug into his pants pocket with his free hand and tossed his car keys to Christian who snagged them out of the air with a careless ease that Seth totally wished he possessed. Without a word Christian turned and left for the parking lot.

"Hey, don't you need me to tell you…." Seth called after his back.

"He'll find the right car, boy. Don't worry." Jason seemed confident of this. He gestured to a busboy that hovered just out of earshot of the little group around Ryan and requested a chair be brought for Ryan while they waited.

Privately, Seth doubted the wisdom of allowing Ryan to sit down. Ryan's strength seemed to be ebbing and it had taken the two of them to get him off the floor. Seth worried that even with help he might not be able to get him back on his feet a second time. Seth swallowed his concerns when the chair arrived.

The expression on Justine's face, however, was such a mixture of worry and apprehension that Seth could tell that if Ryan gave her any excuse she'd certainly override his desire to stay away from hospitals. As Seth took in Ryan's wobbly condition, he didn't know that he didn't agree with her. _I hope Ryan knows what he's doing with the hospital thing. _

Christian returned so quickly that Seth didn't have an opportunity to fret too much or to fall into any more embarrassing verbal holes of his own digging. It did take the two of them to get Ryan on his feet just as Seth had feared; and much to Seth's dismay, Ryan continued to refuse Christian's help as they walked to the restaurant's entrance. Christian, nevertheless, kept pace with them on Ryan's other side but took care neither to touch him nor offer any assistance.

Justine followed alongside them and kept up a running monolog of worries and concerns about Ryan's condition and the wisdom of what he was doing. Jason trailed along behind her, back in guard mode again. A disapproving scowl clouded his handsome features. When they reached the door, Justine tried one last time to change Ryan's mind.

"Ryan, are you sure you won't let Seth drive you to the hospital? No ambulances, no EMT's, no drama. Just, you know, you humoring me about making sure that you're okay."

"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me. All I need is a little rest."

Seth thought Ryan's self diagnosis would have been more convincing if he hadn't needed Seth's very obvious support to get even this far. As Ryan waited patiently for Justine to finish, he rubbed his free hand across his forehead. He'd done that several times since they'd gotten him to his feet. It wasn't a gesture that Seth had seen him make earlier in the evening and its cause worried him. But he knew that he needed to go along with Ryan's wishes in this. It was part of the unwritten code. Friends had each other's backs even when it didn't make sense.

Justine sighed in frustration and turned away back into the restaurant. As she walked away Jason directed his attention to Christian who still waited at Ryan's side.

"Do you think you can see that they get to their car safely?" He asked sarcastically. "I want to see you tonight when you return to the compound."

Without waiting for any answer, Jason turned to the two boys. "I would advise you to go home, both of you, and to stay away from this restaurant in the future. And you boy," he pointed a finger at Ryan, "do not misunderstand Miss Justine's concern. She has a gentle soul and sees only the good in people." He snorted. "It's a weakness that got her parents killed and one that she has to be protected against. I know what you are. Stay away from her." He threw a last sharp glance at Christian before turning and striding away rapidly, intent on catching up with his charge.

With relief Seth saw as they exited the building that, as promised, the Range Rover waited just outside the door of the restaurant. That last couple of feet was, Seth thought, about as far as he had left in him. Ryan was a little shorter than Seth but his body mass of muscle made him at least as heavy as Seth's taller, leaner frame. Seth would have welcomed Christian's help but he soldiered on alone supporting Ryan's weight, keeping him upright and moving toward the truck.

Ryan leaned against the truck by the passenger door, his chin resting on his chest, while Seth searched frantically in his pockets for the keys. Seth supposed that Christian found it amusing to watch his increasingly frantic search for his car keys before he produced them from his pocket and tossed them toward Seth. Moses and Jesus must have both been on duty because Seth caught them cleanly and so escaped the humiliation of dropping them in front of Ryan and loosing whatever cool points he'd earned tonight. He opened the truck's door and Ryan all but fell into the passenger seat. It took Seth's help for him to lift his legs into the car.

Once he was in the truck, Ryan reached up slowly and removed the sunglasses and held them out to Christian who stood watching him.

"Thanks," he said softly. "My glasses are here. I won't need these any more."

Christian brushed the hand holding the glasses gently aside and leaned into the truck. He whispered something to Ryan that Seth couldn't hear. All Seth could see was Ryan's head shake answering no to whatever Christian said to him. Christian stood up with a frown and stepped away from the door to allow Seth to close it.

Seth glanced in at Ryan to see how he was doing. Ryan had replaced the glasses on his face and now sat back in the seat. His head was tilted back supported by the head rest. Seth reached in, pulled the seatbelt across Ryan's chest, and locked it into place.

As Seth stepped away from the door, Christian handed him a card that he'd taken from the inside breast pocket of his tuxedo coat.

"If you need any help, this is my cell phone number."

Seth arched an eyebrow and gave him a 'yeah right, when Hell freezes over' look before shoving the card into his pants pocket without looking at it.

Christian moved out of the way so that Seth could close the passenger door but he didn't return to the restaurant immediately. He remained by the truck watching. His eyes scanned the parking lot in what Seth recognized as his bodyguard mode. Seth paused for a moment and looked around the lot himself before walking to the driver's side. He wondered what Christian had been looking for so late at night.

As soon as Seth snapped his own seatbelt closed and put the key in the ignition, he realized that he didn't know where they were going. He only knew where they weren't going. They weren't going to an Emergency Room.

"Ryan, where to man?" Seth asked before suddenly smiling broadly. "You know, I could take you home. We have this big empty pool house you could stay in. It has a kitchen, a bathroom, futon (that's a bed, you know)," at the scornful look Ryan sent his way Seth hurried on, "but you probably already know that, and a living area. My aunt lived there for almost a year. That's what my Mom called it, at least. Dad said she was freeloading while she worked on my grandfather to give her more money. You could stay there as long as you needed and I could like keep an idea on you (but not in an intrusive, privacy invading way) until you were feeling 100 again."

Ryan slowly turned his head toward Seth. "What about your parents? What would they think about you bringing home a stranger from Chino to live? I might be a thief, or a murderer, or worse." He smiled weakly. "I don't think so Seth. I'm not OC material. Just take me home."

"Which is where? You haven't exactly told me where you live. In fact you've been pretty evasive about the whole Ryan Atwood abode thing tonight. Give me an address and Gypsy, that's my name for my GPS unit, will get us there." He gave the mechanism on the dashboard an affectionate pat. "But who's going to look after you there? I don't think you should be alone. My idea is still better. Eight hundred thread sheets and a heated pool just outside your door," Seth urged in the voice he used when he tried to talk the parental units into something they'd already said no to. "You should come home with me."

Ryan's sunglasses stayed trained on Seth for a beat and then Ryan turned his head back toward the front and slowly gave him the address to The Chino Motel. Before Seth could offer any more arguments his cell phone went off startling him. Seth checked the clock on the dashboard for the time.

"Shit, it's the parents. Good thing I told Mom I wouldn't be answering the phone if she called after midnight." He removed the phone from its holder on the dashboard and hit the off button. "Don't need to be hearing that all night. Sometimes Mom can get a little obsessive. So are you sure, man? Chino?" Ryan nodded yes and Seth programmed the address to The Chino Motel into Gypsy.

"Okay then, The Chino Motel it is."


	12. The Roach Motel Suspended

**VAMPING THE OC**

**The Roach Motel**

Suspended

Seth slumped forward in the driver's seat of the Range Rover, his chin resting on the cool leather of the steering wheel. His arms encircled the wheel in a tight hug as though he needed something solid and familiar to hold on to. He felt all alone in this strange land of Chino after midnight. Ryan had fallen into a restless sleep beside him that had gradually changed to a deeper, quieter sleep as they drove. He hadn't spoken since he'd given Seth the address of The Chino Motel. Now Seth sat parked across the street from Ryan's "home" wondering what he should do next.

He'd missed Ryan's motel the first time he'd driven by it. It must have been disbelief that kept him from recognizing it in time to stop. After going around the block, he chose to park in the lot of a former Seven Eleven store that sat across the street from it rather than pull into the motel's lot. He felt the need to do a recon. Get the lay of the land before he committed himself to a course of action.

The old convenience store, in whose parking lot he now sat, had been converted into a neighborhood market. The Olivera Street Market appeared to Seth to be the only business still open for blocks on either side of The Chino Motel whose business did not skate on the thin edge of respectability or legality. Stores advertising tattoos and piercings stood alongside all-night pawn shops; psychics and palm readers offered a glimpse into the future; while card rooms and the ubiquitous vendors of lottery tickets gave their customers a chance to put their recently purchased foreknowledge to the test. Check cashing establishments, most of whose windows proclaimed the availability of prepaid telephone cards that were good for all Central American countries; adult book and movie rental stores that seemed to compete with their neighbors on the basis of how many XXXs they could squeeze onto their signs; and massage parlors that advertised the availability of Swedish, deep tissue, and topless massages 24 hours a day, dotted the street. The numerous bars along the street had placed loud speakers outside their doors and were sending music out into the street. Even inside the Range Rover Seth could feel the vibrations. The few respectable businesses that still made their home in this corner of Chino were closed for the night and seemed to exist as nothing but the rear guard of a dispirited army that had met the enemy and been vanquished by it.

This little bodega sat like an island of life and respectability in a sea of merchants purveying to the more exotic fleshly needs of the citizens of Chino and neighboring communities. Seth decided that respectability was, however, a relative concept here in this part of Chino. Every customer he'd seen exit the store in the time he'd been parked in front of it had left with at least one case of beer or a brown paper bag of suggestive shape. The sale of alcohol was at least a legal transaction with no moral stigma attached. He had noticed, however, that some of the persons returning to their cars with beer appeared to be far younger than the necessary 21 years of age. He had filed that interesting observation away in his memory for possible future usefulness.

Cleanliness in this part of Chino also seemed to be a forgotten civic virtue. The parking lot where he sat was strewn with trash. Some had been carried in by the wind from around the neighborhood but most had been deposited by the store's careless shoppers. Seth had already seen several examples of that tonight. A mental picture came to him of his Range Rover, fearful of coming in contact with the trash, lifting its skirts as it tiptoed across the lot like a car from an old Looney Tunes cartoon. The image brought a short-lived smile to his face. He looked over at his passenger and wished he could share it with him. He thought Ryan might appreciate it.

Although he hadn't seen much beside alcohol carried out of the store behind him, it apparently sold other things. Its dirty windows were festooned with large ads some new, others old and faded, in both English and Spanish advertising that fact to the neighborhood.

He really needed to decide something soon. He'd seen the store's night clerk come to the window several times and stare out at the truck. _He thinks I'm casing the joint. Before long he's going to call the cops._ He recalled the meeting he and Ryan had earlier that night with Chino's finest and doubted that Ryan wanted a replay of that tonight. He also guessed that it wouldn't be a good idea to have vehicle and personal identity searches go through the city's police computer twice in one night.

The store's clerk peered out the window again. _Damn. How many robbers choose late model Range Rovers as their getaway car of choice? _Hoping to allay the clerk's fears by showing him just how innocent and unthreatening Seth Cohen was, Seth, after checking on Ryan, locked the car and went into the store to buy himself a _Mountain Dew._

Seth studied the merchandise as he walked to the coolers at the back of the store for his drink. Some of the products on the shelves and produce were unknown to him. He thought he knew Mexican food after his years of takeout but apparently his Mom had always stuck with the Cal-Mex when ordering and hadn't gone for more authentic examples of Mexican cuisine.

His Spidey Sense went into overdrive as he wandered the store. The feeling of being watched was overwhelming and was accentuated by the video cameras placed strategically around the store and the notices proclaiming that "Shoplifting Is a Crime" and "Shoplifters Will Be Prosecuted to the Full Extent of the Law."

When he approached the counter with his soda he saw that the Asian clerk on duty had a fancy calculator, a notebook, and a huge science textbook open beside the cash register. "You must be able to get lots of studying done; it's so dead around here." Seth offered by way of showing an interest in and sympathy for the clerk.

"Yeah," was the clerk's only response as he gave Seth his change.

It had been so long since Seth had said anything and because he really wanted to try and establish a connection with the young man that would defuse his suspicions, he continued. "What time do you get off? I'm a night owl myself. In fact, I'm probably still up most nights when you get off." Seth offered him his best goofily friendly smile. "This would totally be my kind of job."

The clerk looked out the window at the $70,000 Range Rover parked in the lot and then back at Seth. The look he gave Seth sent him out of the store and back to his truck without another word. _He thinks I'm either a condescending prick or else that I was coming on to him. Chalk up another conquest for the old Seth Cohen charm._

Ryan was still asleep when Seth let himself back into the truck. He really didn't want to wake Ryan if he didn't have to. Sleep was probably Ryan's friend unless, of course, he really had received a concussion at the restaurant in which case it would be so not like his friend. But Ryan had refused the hospital option so Seth had to go for the next best choice: getting him home to his own bed. He didn't know what he'd do if this proved to be the wrong choice. The conversation that would likely ensue if Ryan woke up and found himself at the entrance to an Emergency Room was not something that Seth wished to experience. He might not know about waking Ryan but he was absolutely sure that he wasn't going to leave him alone tonight.

Seth sipped his soda thoughtfully and watched life as it was lived on Olivera Street unfold before him. The nightlife that the businesses along this street depended on seemed to be in full swing despite it being after midnight and a week night. In the short time Seth had been parked here he'd seen two Chino police cruisers pass by. One of them had paid a brief visit to the motel across the street.

The Chino Motel received a fairly steady flow of people, mostly couples. Some arrived by car, some came on none to steady feet from one of the neighborhood bars, and others, having completed their business negotiations to each party's mutual satisfaction, made it there by both means from the busy corner just up the street from Seth's vantage point.

What Seth wanted to do was let Ryan sleep while he turned around and drove them both home to Newport. Ryan would wake up in the driveway of Casa Cohen and that would be that. Except that Seth doubted that Ryan would just calmly accept being shanghaied to the OC. He definitely didn't want Ryan angry at him. Even in his currently weakened state Seth felt certain that Ryan could kick his ass.

That wasn't what worried Seth the most about taking that action. He was more afraid that Ryan would opt for flight rather than fight. The fear that he would skip out for parts unknown, somewhere Seth couldn't find him or help him, was what kept Seth from going home. Ryan had done the flight thing before from the Crawford House. Seth didn't have a clue what that was about; but if Ryan had run once it was a likely response if he found himself unwillingly plopped down in cloud cookoo land.

Whatever it took, Seth didn't want Ryan in his present condition to be alone tonight out on the streets. The idea of someone walking on the streets of Newport this late at night was so preposterous that the city's ever vigilant police force would have Ryan in a lockup downtown before he could get more than a few blocks. With no one to look out for Ryan or vouch for him if he landed back in the legal system again, there was no way to know what might happen. He didn't know much of Ryan's history but he knew that that outcome would be bad. Seth looked over at his passenger. He knew what he needed to do.

"Ryan, we're here. I guess."

Seth's words had no effect on Ryan. Seth repeated them more loudly, "Ryan, we're here! At your motel."

Seth reached out and found the pulse in Ryan's neck without any problem this time. It seemed steady to him but his skin felt warm to the touch as though he might have a fever. But that made no sense at all. _How could a concussion cause a fever? _

Seth hoped that the deep sleep that had overtaken Ryan was only the okay, well deserved variety caused by exhaustion and not the sleep of a concussion, serious consequences arising there from, that should have him breaking traffic laws on the way to the nearest hospital. He hoped that sleep could solve all of Ryan's problems.

Seth considered how to proceed. If The Chino Motel maintained even a pretense to respectability, they wouldn't just give out a key to a guest's room to anyone who asked for it. He would need to find Ryan's key if he was to get him into his room. "Ryan's got to have a room key," Seth said out loud to the car. "And since it doesn't look like The Chino Motel goes in for the electronic key card thing, Ryan's key probably has his room number on it as well." Seth looked at his friend's sleeping form and wondered how to go about finding it.

Seth considered Ryan's jeans clad legs and then looked away. He reached into the backseat of the truck and grabbed Ryan's backpack. He fervently hoped that Ryan would be okay with him going through his things. He glanced doubtfully over at the sleeping boy. _I could be in so much trouble. _But if his key was in the backpack he'd be in loads less trouble than if he did a pat down search of his new friend while he was asleep.

He held the backpack in his lap and stared at it for a moment before starting. The outside pocket yielded the rubber ball Ryan had been squeezing when Seth first saw Ryan sitting outside of the YMCA, a partially smoked package of _Marlboro Lights_, and a disposable lighter. He also found two cards inside the pocket: a card from a local Starbucks store (_They have Starbucks in Chino?)_ with eight punches gone toward a free drink and a discount card from Borders Books.

Finally there was a package of condoms which sent Seth's opinion of Ryan's coolness up a notch. It wasn't like Seth didn't own any condoms. He had a wide selection of styles secreted in the back of his Seth Only, Do Not Touch comic book boxes. They had been purchased against the day when Summer finally succumbed to the inevitable. While he waited for Summer's willpower to crumble he tested the various brands for user satisfaction and rapidity of deployment and their packaging for ease of opening under low light conditions. Seth studied the brand Ryan used. He suspected that his new friend had more practical knowledge of such things and decided he would add this brand to his supply. Seth carefully returned everything to their place in the pocket.

The inside of his backpack yielded the t-shirt, neatly folded, that Ryan had changed out of at the restaurant. Seth set it aside in amazement. It would never have occurred to him to fold up a dirty shirt. There were also a journal that Seth resisted looking in, the workbook he had distributed in class tonight, and a small artist's sketch book produced, he noted, by the same manufacturer that made the expensive, much larger ones that he kept hidden at home under his bed. The ones at home were filled with his sketches for the graphic novel he planned to publish some day. He opened the sketch book at random and found an excellent drawing of an old Spanish mission church that he didn't recognize. The caption at the bottom of the page read: St. Therese, Chino, California, October 15, 2003. He closed the sketch book and laid it with the other books from Ryan's pack.

Digging deeper he came up with a pencil box that contained pens; a gum eraser; the ubiquitous, yellow, #3 _Ticonderoga _pencils; and artist pencils. At the very bottom of Ryan's pack he found a paperback book. There was no illustration on the cover. He had to hold it up to the light that came in from the street light to read the title, _The Death and Life of Great American Cities, _by Jane Jacobs. Seth squinted at the book and then looked over at this passenger. He shook his head. He'd learned things tonight that confirmed his early impressions about his new acquaintance but just as many that confused and confounded his expectations. But nowhere in the backpack had there been the room key he needed.

Seth repacked Ryan's backpack and returned it to the backseat. He turned to his still sleeping passenger. "Okay, I can do this. It's not going to be at all weird, or minty, or anything." Seth reached across the divider between the two bucket seats and gingerly patted down Ryan's left leg. As Seth gently fingered the contents of Ryan's pants pocket through the denim trying to determine what he was carrying in that pocket, Ryan moved and Seth's hand froze. Seth remembered to breathe again when Ryan showed no other sign of waking. _I am not doing anything wrong. _He told himself. He hoped Ryan would see how funny this all was when he told him about it five - no - ten years from now.

"Coins," he murmured to himself. "Damn." The key must be in Ryan's other pocket. This presented certain problems. He could, he supposed, get out and go around the car and get at Ryan's pocket by opening the passenger door. He glanced around at the activity on the street. But what would that look like to anyone who saw him? If he were lucky, no one in this neighborhood **would** notice or find it noteworthy to see someone going through the pockets of an unconscious man in an SUV. There was, however, the already suspicious clerk in the bodega to consider. He'd made such an impression on him that he didn't think he wanted to risk it. He momentarily considered trying to get at them from the back seat of the Range Rover. Gee, if he were Reed Richards it'd be a snap. Mr. Fantastic wouldn't have a problem.

If he really didn't want to wake Ryan unnecessarily, he'd somehow have to crawl over him, without waking him up, to get at his pocket and the room key. Ryan's breathing remained deep and regular. It held none of the indications of pain or bad dreams that had unsettled his sleep at the start of this trip. Seth tapped his lips with his fingers in thought as he considered the geometry of the problem he was presented with.

He reached down to the controls on the side of the driver's seat and sent the seat gliding back as far as it would go. Next he angled his seat back to the same position as the passenger seat. Now, at least, he had a chance to make this work.

Seth removed his wristwatch and placed it on the dashboard. His shoes came off next. He turned onto his side facing Ryan. Carefully he lifted his left leg over the central divider and the Rover's damn gear shift. Life would have been much simpler if his Mom had bought a model that had the gear shift on the steering column. As it was, if he ever hoped to have a relationship with Summer that was more than merely platonic, he needed to handle this maneuver with **great** care.

Seth's right leg rested on the console straddling the gear shift while he held himself up off Ryan by the strength of his right arm. The gear shift pressed into his groin. This was, he reflected, the closest he'd gotten to any hot car action since he passed his driver's test. His left hand searched for and caught hold of the hand grip above the passenger door. He paused there suspended above Ryan while he decided how to proceed. He'd seen jocks at Harbor doing one-armed push ups to impress each other in gym; but he never thought he'd be trying to do the equivalent maneuver, in the front seat of his Mom's SUV, over the sleeping body of a guy. The only person he'd ever daydreamed about performing the automotive contortions _d'amour_ with had been Summer Roberts.

It had taken a lot of hours of raising and lowering the sails on the _Summer Breeze_ to allow him even to attempt this. He brought his left leg down slowly until his knee rested on the edge of the seat between Ryan's legs. This relieved some of the pressure on Seth's arms, which was good. It also had the effect of putting his knee into Ryan's crotch as the sleeping boy's body slid forward as his knee depressed the seat. This was not good. It was, in fact, so not good that Seth couldn't think of a word to describe how not good it really was. He could feel the blood rush to his face. The SUV's AC suddenly didn't seem to be having much effect on the heat of the Chino night.

Seth brought his left hand down onto the armrest of Ryan's door from the roof of the cab where he'd used it to brace himself. He and a sleeping Ryan faced one another, their faces only inches apart. It wasn't that he was like smelling the guy or anything but the odor of coffee and cigarettes, lingered on Ryan's breath. A Cologne that hinted of evergreens and spices overlay Ryan's own muskier scent. _Ryan wears cologne! _Seth wondered why that surprised him. His boss was a very classy lady in spite of heroccupation. It was probably a gift from her or one of her employees.

As he straddled Ryan, his left hand poised in the air above Ryan's leg, Seth hesitated. How was he going to do this? He could do an 'itsy-bitsy spider' routine and walk his fingers lightly down Ryan's leg looking for the key (which would be weird) or he could slide his left hand slowly down Ryan's thigh (which would be even weirder.) His final choice was to do a manly pat down. This last choice had the advantage of being the least sexually ambivalent of the possibilities. It had the major disadvantage, however, of being the one most likely to awaken Ryan. _Gee Ryan, it was nothing personal. I needed to find your room keys; so you see, I had a really good reason for copping a feel while you were asleep. _

His fingers slowly moved down Ryan's leg, barely brushing the fabric of his pants. _The keys are in that pocket. _Seth drew back his hand and rested it back on the door's armrest. Now came the really hard part, extracting the keys from said pocket. Seth slowly slid his left hand into the slash of pocket in Ryan's pants and had the keys in his fingers when he froze. The soft, regular rhythm of Ryan's breathing had changed. Seth turned his attention from attempting to pick Ryan's pocket to studying him. He found it impossible, however, to tell anything about Ryan's state of wakefulness because of the sunglasses he still wore.

Suddenly a hand pressed down on top of Seth's. Startled, Seth's right hand slipped off the console and he collapsed on top of Ryan.

"Seth?" Ryan breathed his name softly onto the back of his neck. Seth felt the hairs on the back of his neck stir and he shivered.

Seth lay perfectly still. "Hey Ryan, good to have you back among the living." _God, I'm lying here with my head on his shoulder. I am so dead!_

A pause followed, that seemed to stretch on interminably, before Ryan continued. "Seth, your nose, it's in my ear. And your knee…"

"Right." Seth didn't wait for him to finish that thought. His voice dropped an octave. "Like totally unacceptable touching between two staunch heteros, got it. Giving you back your personal space."

"Seth. Your hand."

"Yes, removing same and moving self and all other bodily appendages from all embarrassing and inappropriate places." Seth levered himself up and away from Ryan and scrambled back across the console. He collapsed into the driver's seat breathing hard. The exertion and the adrenalin rush of fear he'd experienced when Ryan spoke left him momentarily speechless. He wondered absently why the interior of the truck wasn't brighter. Surely his face was so red that he must be radiating light in the visible spectrum.

"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" Ryan asked quietly. "We don't know each other well enough for you to be trying for second base." Seth thought he saw by the dim light coming in from the street a very faint smile on Ryan's lips.

"Man, no base stealing was being attempted here. No sirree. Cohen men are known far and wide for their lack of any physical prowess. We are like the anti-jock. I was just looking for your keys. Your room key to be specific. Needed key to get you into your room. See, we're here." Seth gestured out the window. "Chino in all its grandeur."

Ryan eased his body up from where it had slid down in the seat and checked out Seth's words. It looked to Seth as though Ryan shrank into himself as he took in the nightlife visible across the street.

"Thanks. I can make it from here. You don't have to go any farther." Ryan started to open the door.

"The Seth Cohen taxi service provides door to door pickup and delivery. No reason for you to risk life and limb trying to cross that street." Seth lowered his voice as though sharing a secret. "You know, the people out there don't seem to have much respect for traffic laws."

Ryan settled slowly back into his seat. It was awful, Seth thought, not being able to see Ryan's eyes. He didn't have a clue what Ryan thought about what had just happened. Did he think it was funny, in a slapstick kind of comedy way, or funny, in a weird homophobic way? Had Seth lost what might be his best chance at having a friend? Ryan didn't seem to talk much under the best of circumstances but he did have an expressive face. Seth had found in the short time he'd known him that he could tell a lot about what Ryan was thinking from merely observing his face. Seeing his own face reflected back at him out of the depths of Ryan's glasses didn't convey any useful information to Seth about what his passenger might be feeling or thinking.

He watched as Ryan's thumb slowly traced small circles on the soft leather armrest of his seat. The movement stopped and Ryan's head came up.

"What were you going to do after you got my key, Seth? You would have had to wake me up to get me to my room."

Seth sat unmoving, at a loss for words. "I guess I didn't think that far ahead. Sorry, man, for all that …" he made a broad, all encompassing gesture with his hands, "weirdness."

Ryan tilted his head as though studying Seth and then nodded.

"Take me home, please, Seth."

A.N. If all this seems too farfetched to believe, I offer in my defense Seth's attempt to fix the cable in the middle of a storm wearing a Spider Man mask. Seth over analyzes and over intellectualizes everything and never comes up with the simplest way to solve any problem. (Not meant as a criticism because it's me also but just an observation on a certain kind of mind works.) Besides, how else was I going to work Ryan's line, "Your nose is in my ear" into the story? It was too funny a way to deal with the problem for me to resist. Hope you didn't gag on the fluff.


	13. The Roach Motel, Night Shift, pt 1

Vamping the OC

The Roach Motel

Night Shift, part 1.

Seth made the turn into the driveway of The Chino Motel and drove slowly past the office. He saw several people through the windows watching a big screen television. A thin, non-descript woman with something piled on top of her head was seated behind a counter. She turned her attention away from the screen and followed the truck with her eyes as it entered the central court of the motel.

Glancing over at Ryan, Seth couldn't tell if his new friend had fallen back to sleep or was just being very still. The whole laconic Westerner thing that Ryan had going on completely confused Seth.

"Do I need to stop and give them my license plate number or anything?"

"Yeah, you'll need to give it to them eventually. Take a right here, around the pool." Ryan pointed with his hand.

Seth looked for the pool Ryan had mentioned as a landmark. All he saw in front of him was a shadowy area surrounded by a high chain link fence. A gate faced him with pool hours posted on it; but there was no sign of water only a gaping black hole. An ancient, rusted swing set devoid of swings and a picnic table sat in the middle of a dry, grassless yard outside the fence. Nothing resembling a swimming pool presented itself.

"Pool?"

"Just go to the right. My room's in the right, rear corner."

As he followed Ryan's directions Seth got a better view of the fenced off pool that The Chino Motel provided its guests. A small pool of black water at its deepest point where the diving board had once been reflected back the light from a mercury vapor lamp overhead. The bottom of the pool was littered with beer cans, broken bottles, and various other kinds of trash that had collected there.

"Man, it's not too late to change your mind. Newport, a pool house, a _real_ pool with _real _water, a Jacuzzi, and an ocean view." Seth tried to entice Ryan into reconsidering his offer to take him home.

"Why? I've got a pool, Seth. See. I'm just steps away from it." Ryan rolled his head to look at Seth and his lips twitched as though he almost considered smiling. "I'm number 24. You can park in front." Ryan paused. "I keep my bike in the room."

Seth parked the Range Rover in the indicated space and turned off the engine. "How're you doing?" He asked remembering the effort it had taken to get Ryan to the car back at the restaurant.

"We'll know when I get out, right?" Ryan unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. He swung his legs out slowly and paused.

Before Ryan could step down out of the truck Seth had already made it around to the passenger side and was holding the door steady for him. Seth tried not to hover but the eyeless stare Ryan sent him through his glasses made him think that he wasn't succeeding with the not hovering thing. He refused, however, to let himself be intimidated by a Ryan who was operating at less than 50of efficiency. _I can handle a sick Ryan. _

Seth hadn't yet offered him a hand out of the car. The sleep might, after all, have helped Ryan's condition, whatever it was. He waited patiently for Ryan to finish the step down out of the Range Rover. Ryan put his left hand on the armrest on the door and levered himself up and out of the truck. He swayed weakly holding onto the door with both hands.

"Ryan? You okay, man?"

"A little dizzy, that's all. Give me a minute."

Seth didn't give him a minute. He grabbed Ryan's right arm and draped it over his shoulder. He gave Ryan a surprised look as his bare arm touched the back of Seth's neck. Ryan's skin was hot to the touch as though he had a fever or severe sunburn. Seth put his other arm around his friend's waist. "Okay, enough with the self-reliance, I'm here to help. So let me!" Seth complained in irritation as Ryan tried to pull away from him. "You either let me help you to your room or I put you back into the truck and we find an Emergency Room, Mr. Atwood." Seth felt Ryan's body stiffen at his words but then felt the tension go out of him. Ryan stopped resisting and Seth kicked the truck's door shut.

"You'd better arm your security system, Seth."

The lights of the Range Rover flashed as Seth locked and set the security for the SUV. "Done. I'll come back for your backpack and bike later. You need to be in bed. So, where's your key?" Seth was grateful for the dark glasses Ryan still wore. It was, he thought, extremely unlikely that Ryan could see the blush that spread up Seth's neck as he mentioned Ryan's room key.

Ryan dug into his pants pocket and pulled out the key but held it just out of Seth's reach.

"What?"

"Seth, I let you help me in and then you leave. Go home to Newport before you get in trouble with your folks. Do we have an understanding?"

"Right, I get you inside first and then we negotiate terms."

Seth walked him the short distance to his room and flipped on the light switch next to the door after he got it open. A small table lamp on the desk came on and supplied all the light the room had.

"I thought you smoked."

"What?"

"I said, I thought you smoked. You were smoking in front of the Y when I first saw you. There's hardly any smell of cigarette smoke in here. I have allergies. I'm sensitive to that kind of thing. I can tell when people smoke."

"My boss doesn't smoke and she doesn't like the smell of smoke on her employees. So, I try not to smoke in the room and get the odor on my clothes."

Seth took in how neat the room was as he helped Ryan across to his bed. He assumed that the made bed was the work of the housekeeping staff; but there was none of the clutter on the floor or dirty clothes strewn around that Ryan would have found in Seth's room in Newport. The other thing that struck him was the books. There were books, lots of books, books neatly lined up on top of the bureau, books stacked on the desk, and even on the room's window ledge. But no comic books. _This guy needs help. He's seriously illiterate in the graphic novel._

"I could use a good maid service." Seth commented as he lowered Ryan down onto his bed. The covers on Ryan's bed were already turned down. "My mom's always on my case about picking up after myself. She says that I shouldn't leave my stuff around and make more work for Rosa, that's our housekeeper. But I say, that's what a housekeeper's for, right? Maybe hotel living wouldn't be so bad."

"I'm the maid service, Seth. I get a break on the rent if their housekeeper doesn't have to come into my room. They just give me clean linens once a week." Ryan leaned forward to untie his boots and Seth had to catch him by the shoulders as he lost his balance and started to topple forward.

"Whoa. I'll take care of the boots, old man. Lean back." Looking at the blue bedspread, he lifted Ryan's legs onto the bed. "Don't be such a pain. Lie still." he said as Ryan tried to get his feet back onto the floor. "From the looks of this bedspread you won't be the first person who ever put their shoes on it. You might, however, be the last," he guessed.

The coverlet contained small holes, one sizeable patch in a darker shade of blue than the bedspread itself, and numerous places where the fabric had worn so thin that the sheet beneath could be seen. It was clean but how many more washings it could take before it finally fell to pieces was an open question.

Seth pulled Ryan's boots off and his socks followed. He placed the boots under the bed. "You should really, like, get out of those clothes." Ryan began to unbutton his shirt. As he slowly struggled out of it, Seth stood to the side of the bed tying to ignore his obvious difficulty with this simple task. Ryan handed him the shirt. Now that he was shirtless Seth could see that Ryan's right arm and shoulder were a bright red.

"What is that? Does it itch?" Seth asked reaching out to touch his arm gingerly. Ryan's skin was really hot to the touch. He hadn't imagined it before when he helped him out of the car.

"Not really," Ryan said not very convincingly.

"Someone has been working out," Seth said staring down at him and thinking of all the work it must have taken Ryan to develop the arms and chest that he saw in front of him. _God, did I say that out loud? That even sounded minty to me._

Ryan started to say something and then seemed to change his mind. "You've got to be a member of the Y to take their classes and I have a lot of free time during the day. My dirty clothes go in the bathroom." He nodded toward a closed door behind Seth.

"And the pants." Seth didn't move. He stood there holding Ryan's black silk shirt and his socks, waiting.

"No way. It's time for you to go." Ryan pushed himself higher in the bed using his left hand. "You said you'd leave after you got me in."

"Not exactly. I said we'd negotiate that. I'll leave when you're in bed **and** I'm sure that you're okay. So, I can either help you out of your jeans; or if you want to maintain your dignity, you can do it yourself."

Seth cocked his head and waited as Ryan undid his belt and the buttons of his fly but that was as far as he got. Ryan faced away from Seth and stared fixedly at the wheezing air-conditioning unit set into the window next to the bed. Seth took hold of the cuffs of his jeans. Ryan raised his hips and Seth slowly slipped them off. Lying on the bed in just his boxers, Ryan refused to look at Seth. His face was as red as the rash that covered his right side. He began to shiver. The air-conditioner in this room seemed to have only one setting - frigid. Seth frowned. _I'll have to deal with that later. _Seth lifted Ryan's legs again and slid them under the covers and then pulled the sheet and bedspread up over him.

"Satisfied?" Ryan growled. "You're leaving now, right?"

Seth ignored the question as he dropped Ryan's wallet on the desk alongside his room key. He opened the door to Ryan's bathroom and found an old duffel bag behind the door that doubled for a clothes basket. The bathroom was just as clean and neat as the ones Rosa maintained for the Cohen's.

"How's the head? Can you ditch the sunglasses now? There's only the one light on."

"Better," was Ryan's one-word, not very informative answer as he slipped off his glasses. He squinted at Seth.

Seth looked him over skeptically. "On a scale of 1-10, how's the pain, really?"

Ryan glared at him and then replied with a sigh, "Eight."

"An honest answer, I like that. Do you have anything around here for a migraine?

Ryan shook his head no. "But I'll be okay once I get some sleep. I'm in bed. You need to get out of here."

"Not 'til I get you something for that headache. Is there an all-night drugstore or supermarket around here? Besides the place across the street, I mean. I don't think that guy wants to see me again tonight." Seth pulled the desk chair out and straddled it. "And what about the front desk and my car? Are they going to come looking for me soon?"

"Yeah, you should take care of the office if you're going to be hanging around for a while."

Seth heard resignation in Ryan's voice and gave himself a little mental pat on the back. _Wore him down, I did, I did. Knew I could do it._ "Right, I'll take care of the office first and then go on a drug run for you." He gave Ryan a knowing look that caused Ryan to roll his eyes and stare up at the ceiling.

"Grab my wallet."

"What for?"

"You'll need to pay when you go to the front desk and for whatever you buy me."

"For parking my car?" Seth asked.

"No, for staying the night. People stop being a visitor after 10:00 pm and have to register as a guest. I'll need to pay for you as my guest."

Seth's eyebrows went up. "You know this from having a _lot_ of late night guests?"

"I know this from working the late shift one night a week. It helps with the rent." Ryan's head was resting on his pillow. His eyes were shut.

"So, I'll register as your guest, pay, get directions to someplace where I can get you something for your head, and then be back." Seth headed for the door. "Do you need anything?"

Seth watched as Ryan thought it over. He wondered what could be so difficult about that question?

"Some juice. They have it in the vending machine in the lobby."

"Done. And I'll get you some ice too." Seth's hand was on the doorknob.

"Seth, my wallet!"

"Your money's no good, Ryan. I've got it covered." Seth opened the door and then paused. "This is Chino," he mused. "I wonder if I can score something better than Advil for your headache? I've got Mom's Amex card." As Seth closed the door behind him, he thought he could hear Ryan calling his name


	14. The Roach Motel, Night Shift, pt 2

VAMPING THE OC

Part I

The Roach Motel

Night Shift, part 2.

"Yeah, what do you want, kid?" The night clerk of The Chino Motel checked him out as Seth stood fidgeting in front of her counter. He might have found her attention flattering if he'd seen anything of interest in her. The woman who sat in front of him was plain, wore no makeup (perhaps the usual late night clientele of The Chino had lower standards), and had hairwas an orange-red color that Seth had only previously seen on stuffed animals in the markdown bins of toy stores. Her hair, this particular night, was wound around plastic curlers of varying colors and sizes that marched across her head in neat, symmetrical rows. This whole, colorful mass was wrapped up in a purple scarf.

The clerk's dress was equally casual. She wore a shapeless, short-sleeved garment made of some thin, green, polyester fabric covered with large purple flowers. Snaps ran down its front from her neck until they disappeared from sight below the counter she sat behind. It reminded Seth of the way Alice Cramden dressed on the old _Honeymooner_ episodes he'd watched on _Nickelodeon_. He had to fight the impulse to peek around the corner of the counter and see what foot ware she'd chosen to complete her work ensemble. If she wore fuzzy, purple flip-flops, he'd know for sure that he'd somehow stumbled through a time warp.

"Gee, I'm sorry to disturb your TV watching." Seth tried really hard to sound both sincere and apologetic. "I know how I hate to have people interrupt me when I'm watching…," he glanced over his shoulder at the television screen behind him, "_The Best of COPS_. But Ryan, Ryan Alwood in unit 24, told me that I needed to give you my car's license number and to check in with you because it's so late. I'm spending the night with Ryan."

The woman said nothing at this only lifted an eyebrow. Seth dropped his gaze to the floor, his face wrinkled in disgust, as he felt his ears start to burn. He silently cursed under his breath. _Damn! Why don't I ever get anything right? That's so not how I wanted that to come out_. What was even worse, he had the feeling that the two guys seated across the room had abandoned their television watching in favor of the Seth Cohen Show, live tonight from the lobby of The Chino Motel.

Pulling a blank card from a pile of similar cards in front of her, the clerk behind the counter passed it to him. "Fill this out. The information on your car and your license plate number goes here on the bottom line. You owe me $29.50 for tonight." She pointed out the boxes on the card he needed to complete. Seth's attention was momentarily distracted from what she was saying by the golden butterfly that glittered on the inch-long, flame-red nail that curved out from the end of her index finger. Each of her nails was similarly decorated, he noted.

The desk clerk leaned back in her swivel chair, the nails on her left hand drumming on the countertop as Seth completed the registration card.

"You are over eighteen, right? The owner don't want any minors around here causing her trouble with the cops."

Seth looked up from the card and said without any hesitation, "Yeah, right, eighteen. Almost nineteen in 23 days, actually. No problem there," he assured her as he passed her the registration card and his credit card.

The woman paid no attention to the registration but scowled fiercely at the credit card. She picked up his American Express card and held it by the edge as though it was something toxic. Seth noticed then that she had a name badge pinned to her chest in the center of a huge purple hibiscus. Her name was Ruby. He'd missed that fact earlier.

Holding the credit card between her thumb and index finger, the clerk tapped it on the desk top before she laid it down on the counter and picked up Seth's registration card. This time she looked carefully at the information on it. Ruby squinted up at Seth with faded gray eyes when she finished reviewing his registration.

"Newport Beach? You're a long way from home, kid." She tapped her fingers on the desk as she mused out loud. It was like a flock of angry butterflies had taken flight and was fluttering around her hand. "Do you have permission to use this credit card; or did you swipe your old man's? Maybe I do need to see some identification to verify your age. Or, you know, maybe I should just call your folks."

Seth took a breath. As he took in her narrowed eyes and speculative gaze Seth finally got the message. "Right, you are! Credit cards are so 20th century. They're way too much trouble for a small business like this. All that paperwork. Cash **is** more convenient. You don't mind if I use cash instead, do you?" At her quick nod of agreement, he gave her his biggest, friendliest, and he hoped, most mature, I'm not violating curfew tonight, I really am over eighteen, so there's no reason to call my folks, smile. Seth pulled bills out of his wallet and handed them to her.

The frown lines around Ruby's eyes disappeared as if by magic as her fingers closed around the cash. Now, with the question of the manner of payment out of the way, the transaction went more smoothly.

"The Manager likes cash and most of our customers prefer it too," she explained, suddenly in a friendly, talkative mood. "With cash we don't have to give the credit card companies a cut and there aren't any credit card charges showing up on monthly statements that you," she gave him a knowing smile, "have to explain to anyone."

"There you are Mr. Cohen. You and Ryan are set for the night." Ruby handed Seth a receipt, his change, and the credit card she'd found so upsetting. "Here's your room key. Check out time is noon today. If you decide to stay another night," she winked at Seth, "I'll need to need to see you by noon. Hope you enjoy your stay at The Chino.".

Seth, however, didn't step immediately away from the counter.

"Was there something else?" The frown lines reappeared on her face.

"Is there a drugstore or a supermarket that might still be open? Ryan's got a migraine and I wanted to get something for him." Seth waited hopefully.

"Something she is wrong with _mon cher_?" An oddly accented voice asked from so close behind Seth that he jumped.

"You want to help him, Jean Paul?" Ruby looked past Seth. Seth could just feel the joy of customer service bursting to get out of her – not! _COPS_ obviously had more appeal for her than anything he might need.

"_Mais oui, mon bijou_. Anything for _le beau Ryan." _

She turned her gaze back on Seth. "He'll help you. Ask Jean Paul." Dismissing him from her thoughts, her eyes went back to the television and Seth might as well have donned Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. He'd ceased to exist for Ruby. Seth turned to see who this Jean Paul was who'd spoken.

A pale, smooth shaven, older man had come up behind Seth while he talked with the clerk. Seth wondered why he hadn't realized he was there. He traveled in a cloud of expensive cologne that Seth recognized from an unfortunate excursion that his mother had insisted they make to the men's cosmetics department at Neiman Marcus. She'd had the idea that he could get his grandfather cologne for Chirstmakkuh but had failed to take into account what all the scents in the air would do to his allergies. Seth unconsciously took a step back from the overpowering scent but the man stepped forward immediately to close the distance he'd attempted to open up between them.

The man was about Seth's height, had brown eyes, very thin eyebrows, and the look of someone who'd had up close, personal, and repeated experience with the whole Botox thing. His smooth, tight, unlined face made guessing the man's true age problematic. Seth thought from his experience meeting his mother's older Newpsie friends that 50 or 55 might be a fair, if never to be spoken aloud, guess for his age.

His eyes were turned up at the corners giving his face a slightly exotic look. Seth couldn't see his hair. Both his hair and head were hidden under a red silk turban. He wore satin slippers in the same color on his feet. A small silver bell hung from the curled toe of each slipper. They tinkled whenever he moved. Although not tall, he was big. He must have weighed at least 250 pounds and the red and white stripped caftan that he wore billowed out around him like a partially deflated hot air balloon.

"Ryan, he is not well?" He asked impatiently, with evident concern.

Between the fingers of his right hand he carried a long, empty, ivory cigarette holder that he used like a conductor's baton to accent his words. He made a sharp gesture with his cigarette holder when Seth didn't reply immediately. "_Mon petit_, the birds, they will be using your mouth for a nest if you do not shut it." He rapped Seth's chin smartly with the end of his holder to emphasize the point.

Seth closed his mouth with a snap. He didn't want the man to think he was staring or laughing at him which, of course, he so totally was doing. Seth blinked and looked down at the carpet and tried to pull himself together; but the sight of the tiny silver bell on the toe of Jean Paul's slipper dancing and jingling merrily as he tapped his foot completely nonplussed him. He had to look away to keep from breaking up.

Seth's head came up. "What? Er, right, Ryan. Ryan has a migraine, I guess; and he's got nothing for the pain in his room. I was hoping to find an all-night store where..." A sharp bark of laughter interrupted him. It came from the young man who'd remained sitting on the couch in front of the TV.

"Daviiid, be nice." Jean Paul said stretching out the boy's name like a piece of taffy. He turned back to Seth. "He laughs because nothing respectable, she stay open this late in Chino. You will have to drive to…" He paused and looked over at the boy on the couch. "Where would he have to drive, David? I know where nothing is in Chino." He gave a helpless, little shrug. "If I need something, I call the taxi to take me."

The young man on the couch turned until he was looking over its back at the two of them. "How long have you lived here, Jean Paul?" He asked with amusement in his voice.

"Oh, Daviiid. This is all only _temporaire_." He gestured around the lobby. "Why should I bother to learn where anything she is?" His mouth took on a pout. "You know what they say about blonds."

Seth heard a loud snort from behind him. "Yeah, old blond Queens. I'm trying to watch this program, Jean Paul. You want to hold court, do it someplace else, not in front of me. Go away." The golden butterflies took flight again as Ruby attempted to wave him out of her line of sight.

The man ignored Ruby and her comments. "I forget my manners. I am Jean Paul Dubois and you are?" The stare he gave Seth surprised the boy with its directness.

"Seth Cohen."

Jean Paul held out a hand that made Seth think of a swan with a sore neck. The fingers were apart and hung down at an angle. He took only Seth's fingers in his hand and gave him the most perfunctory shake. "And, Seth Cohen of Newport, how do you know **my Ryan**?" Seth didn't know what to make of the emphasis he heard in Jean Paul's my Ryan.

"Jean Paul," Ruby said again in warning.

Jean Paul put his hand lightly on Seth's shoulder and nudged him toward three chairs set off in the corner of the lobby. "Over here Seth. We will leave Ruby to her _programme_." Jean Paul waved a hand languidly at the boy on the couch, "and you too David. The three of us we will pool our knowledge and find a way to help Seth help _notre bon ami_."

David unwound his long legs and stood up from the couch. He followed them over to the indicated corner. David was tall and athletic with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Seth couldn't decide from studying his face what his ethnic heritage might be. His hair was black, cut short, and he had either the darkest tan Seth had ever seen or else there was something in his background other than Caucasian. He had piercing black eyes, high cheekbones, and a firm jaw. A dimple showed in his chin whenever he smiled and softened his face. In a town filled with beautiful people, Seth wondered how the agents had missed him and why his picture wasn't looking down from billboards around town hawking jeans or underwear.

"Jean Paul, cool it. You're claws are showing." Turning to Seth he said, "Ignore him. His growl is worse than his bite. I'm David Gillespie." He offered Seth his hand. His grip was firm but he didn't try to hurt Seth or turn it into a contest the way so many of the guys at Harbor did that intimidated him with their coolness and good looks. David folded a leg under him and sank into one of the vinyl covered armchairs.

"What's wrong with Ryan?"

"He's got the mother of all headaches and there's nothing in his room – not even a Tylenol. I got him undressed and into bed but that's all I could do for him."

"That's not surprising, the pills part, at least," David said looking past him at Jean Paul who sat on the other side of Seth. There was a strange smile on David's face that caused Seth to turn and look at the older man. He found that Jean Paul's eyes had narrowed and that he was staringat Seth with fierce intensity. One arm was across his ample stomach and the other rested on top of it with his fist under his chin.

"If anyone should be undressing or putting _mon cher_ to bed, it is Jean Paul. He is hurting. I must fly to him," Jean Paul said in agitation.

Seth watched in amazement as Jean Paul"s hand with the cigarette holder in it cut through the air in swift, glittery strokes as he used it to punctuate his sentences. His excitement level must be considerable now Seth thought. Jean Paul had both hands in play and the light that reflected off all the rings that he wore on the fingers of both hands was truly impressive.

"I'm sure that I have something that will help. I have the Oxycodin, and the Percodan, and the Percocet, and the Vicodin. Does he need something for sleep? I have that too. _Vite! Vite!_ Come. We will see what I have in my cupboard." Jean Paul had his hands on the arms of his chair as he rocked back and forth trying to get up the momentum that would propel him up and out of his seat.

Seth realized that his mouth had fallen open again and he closed it. David watched Seth's surprised reaction. A broad grin spread across his face.

"Don't get your shorts all in a bunch, Jean Paul. You know Ryan won't take that shit. Take it easy." He reached across and patted the older man on the knee. "You'll work yourself into another one of your conditions. You don't want that, do you? Do you remember how long it took Ryan and me by bus to visit you in the hospital last time?" Jean Paul looked unconvinced. "Well then, do you remember how awful the food was?"

Jean Paul gave a little shudder and made an obvious effort to slow his breathing. He stopped trying to get out of the chair and his face took on an abashed expression. He nodded and settled back into his chair. Tucking his slippers under the hem of his caftan, he made a production of straightening his robe before folding his hands demurely in his lap. He looked expectantly at David who was shaking his head. Seth saw amusement and affection reflected in his attitude toward the older man.

David turned back to Seth. "Ryan doesn't do drugs and he certainly won't take any of the ones Jean Paul has." Turning to the older man he asked, "JP, do you remember what he was like when he had the flu?" Jean Paul didn't answer but gave a loud sigh instead and David continued. "You'll be lucky to get an aspirin down him, Seth. Do you have anything like that in that magic cupboard of yours?" Jean Paul gave David an incredulous look at what was an obviously absurd question.

"I didn't think so and I needed my last couple this morning." David looked sheepish and Jean Paul chuckled understandingly. "So I guess, Seth, you and I will have to go on an aspirin run."

"Tylenol," Jean Paul corrected primly. _Votres enfants_, you're too young to be taking the aspirin."

"Okay, not aspirin." David agreed rolling his eyes.

"But what about Jean Paul? There must be something he can do. How can he help?" Jean Paul sat up straight in his chair and looked at the boys expectantly. David looked at Seth for a suggestion.

"You can get Ryan some ice and a juice for him out of the vending machine." Seth said. "I was going to do that. And, you can sit with him if he wants company." Seth hoped that this would be alright with Ryan and that he'd be polite and not hurt the old guy's feelings if he didn't wanthim around. "Here's the key."

"_Certainment."_ Jean Paul accepted the key and slipped it into the pocket of his caftan. His expression softened somewhat as he considered Seth. "These things Jean Paul can do. Jean Paul will take good care of Ryan for you." He gave Seth an odd look. "You boys run and do the shopping and I will sit with _l'invalide_."

Jean Paul boosted himself out of his chair. He pulled a black beaded coin purse out of the pocket of his caftan and poked around in it for change. Satisfied that he had what he needed he headed off to the vending and ice machine that Seth had passed in the hallway. He was humming to himself as he left the lobby.

"We'll need to take your car," David said as the two boys stood up.

"He's…" Seth paused at a loss as to how to describe Jean Paul.

"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" David laughed and he gave Seth a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "You know Jean Paul has totally crushed on Ryan and he now heartily hates you?" Ignoring Seth's dumbfounded expression David continued walking across the lobby. He paused, his hand on the door, waiting for Seth to catch up and added casually over his shoulder, "But then he stopped hating me eventually even though he thought I was sleeping with Ryan."

As David held the door to the parking lot open for Seth, his eyes were bright with laughter as he listened to the choked sounds Seth tried to disguise as coughing. "Jean Paul will get over his pique with you too."


End file.
